Suffer the Children and the Geeks
by Faye Dartmouth
Summary: A haunted museum, a geeky little brother, and five missing children makes for an interesting hunt.
1. Chapter 1

Title: Suffer the Children (and the Geeks) 1/10

Summary: A haunted museum, a geeky little brother, and five missing children makes for an interesting hunt.

A/N: This fic is for my beloved beta, geminigrl11. For all that you've done for me over the past year and a half, a fic doesn't seem like much. But I know life's sucked lately, and if this can at all perk you up, I've done what little I can :)

A/N 2: I have to thank two people for helping me get this fic to completion. First of all, Tyranusfan did the fastest beta for a fic this size that I could even imagine. I'm glad that he decided not to hate me, even while he was tackling page 55 at one AM. His attention to detail totally helped clean up my plot difficulties and character inconsistencies. Also, there are no words for how much sendintheclowns did for this piece. She held my hand through the ENTIRE process, from conceptualizing it, to doing random Google research, to helping me NOT freak out when I couldn't make myself write. She deserves a TON of credit for her work on this and I'm pretty sure I now owe her my firstborn child.

Disclaimer: I own nothing! I mean, I did make up some OCs in this one, but the heart of the fic--all things Sam and Dean--are sadly not mine. They're on loan to Gem for the day anyway :)

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**Chapter One**

Sam was a geek.

Dean told him that every chance he got and was not hesitant to tell it to anyone they met, especially when Sam's geekiness was in demand.

Even Sam knew that he was a geek, and under duress, when he saw no other option, he would even confirm it.

He liked books. He liked research. He liked obscure, little known facts. He liked to be smart, to know things. As a kid, it had always been his way to pull his weight in the hunt--when he'd been too young or too inexperienced or just plain too _not-Dean_. Geekiness had been his way to shine, and he had taken to it with a flourish.

Besides that, he really was good at it. All the teachers told him so. And when praise from home was long in coming, he took it where he could find it, and so his research skills just got better.

Dean was capable, even pretty good, and their dad had been scary-good in that obsessive, reclusive kind of way. But Sam had the advantages of technology (because he paid attention in school, unlike others who will not be named) and of passion. John would only research what was relevant to him, and he wasn't great at sharing. Dean would only research when he had to.

Sam researched because it interested him.

But that didn't mean that was all he _ever_ wanted to do, and lately, it seemed, it was all he _ever_ got to do.

Or maybe it was just tonight.

Because he was tired. They were between hunts, and he wanted it to stay that way--just for a while. He wanted to catch a movie, eat a real meal, play mini-golf, even bowl. He'd settle for time to catch up on his email.

But they needed a hunt. And they only had one computer.

So finding the hunt kind of fell to him. Sure, Dean had checked the papers (there was only one, eight page local production that talked more about produce than news) and he had promised to watch the news to see if there was anything else if Sam would just peruse the computer.

Since it was pretty clear they weren't going out at all, Sam had resigned himself to the computer, hunched himself over it, looking for some trail to follow, some lead to go, some story to move them out of this nowhere place.

Dean, on the other hand, was sprawled out on one of the beds, propped up against the headboard. He held the remote in his hand and was flipping channels lazily. Sam couldn't help but glare.

He supposed he should really feel grateful. Dean had been itching to go to a bar, to pick up some girls and drink some beer (not necessarily in that order), but the thought of being on the social scene still made Sam feel a twinge of trepidation. After San Francisco, he wasn't sure he ever wanted to make meaningful contact with the outside world again

Which was his choice, but it certainly didn't have to be Dean's. But the prospect of being alone in a motel room, or the third wheel while Dean flirted it up at some bar also did not sound appealing. Dean, in his infinite big brother wisdom, must have taken pity on him and not forced the issue. The fact that Dean had not dragged Sam along but had also not left Sam behind that night was a testament to just how much Dean cared about his baby brother.

But that still didn't make it any easier for Sam to be working while his big brother lounged around.

He sighed. Glaring at Dean wouldn't get him very far and it certainly wouldn't get them a case any faster. Focusing was his best bet.

Besides, he may have a case, if the details panned out. Sometimes cases were easy to find—obvious clues in national news articles. Comments on supernatural websites. Freak theories on message boards.

Other times, they took more work. Sometimes they required finding patterns, putting together pieces—the kind of stuff their father had thrived at.

Though it was more time consuming and more stressful, it was also more gratifying. And Sam was feeling pretty certain that he might have just stumbled across a new one.

"Dean," he said. "I think I got something."

Dean didn't even look at him, but instead flipped to a channel where a short Hispanic man was kneeling front of a dog. He was staring intently into the dog's eyes and started hissing.

"Dean," Sam tried again, glancing from the screen to his brother.

Cocking his head to better view the picture, Dean raised an eyebrow at the dog barking frantically on the screen. "Yeah?" Dean asked.

"You listening to me?" Sam replied, more than a twinge of impatience coloring his voice. It was one thing to have to do all the research; it was another to feel completely ignored doing it. "I've got a string of mysterious deaths related to a museum exhibit."

Dean didn't even blink, just looked mesmerized at the screen as the man began to moan a little.

Sam had finally had enough. "Dude, what are you watching?"

"Shhh," Dean said. "He's about to tell us what the dog is thinking."

Sam reluctantly relented to his curiosity. "Why would he do that?"

"He's a dog whisperer, man," Dean told him as if he should know. "He helps the owners figure out why the dog freaks out all the time. Like why it attacks every fat bald guy it sees."

Mouth hanging open, Sam searched for something to say. "Dean, he claims to be a dog whisperer. He's like a deranged Jennifer Love Hewitt."

Dean flashed him a grin at the familiar reference. "Only not nearly as hot," Dean agreed, "and far more believable."

Sam opened his mouth to make a response, but thought better of it. He looked back at his computer screen. "It's always the same," Sam said, checking the notes again. "Some kid at a museum, gets separated from his family or group, and they find the kid having seizures or passed out. All the kids wind up in comas and eventually die from pneumonia."

The show had gone on commercial, and Dean commenced clicking channels again. "Sounds like a shtriga," Dean mused.

Sam shook his head. "But at a museum? Those things work their way through families and only go on food binges every 15-20 years. This pattern is too widespread--all across the country, maybe some overseas. And the timeframe we're looking at--not the nightly attacks like a shtriga."

"But the kids are all found in different parts of the museum?"

"Well, that's the interesting part. They're all found near the Jewels of the East collection. It started over in Japan and just started making its way across America last year. Since then, nine kids have died."

"And no one's made the connection?"

"It's a traveling exhibit," Sam said with a shrug. "The deaths haven't hit the same city twice--and there's nothing suspicious about the deaths. They've all been called fluke illnesses, something with heart arrhythmias and comas. And there's no link between the victims except they've all been kids—ages five to fourteen."

"So, where's it at now?"

"It just moved," Sam said. "Just opened up in Springfield Natural History Museum."

"As in Illinois?"

"Yep," Sam said. "It's going to be there for about a month before it moves on. I think we should catch it before it can get another victim."

Dean yawned. "We don't have any idea which jewel it is? I mean, unless it's like the whole exhibit or something." He paused his flipping, cocking his head in wonderment at a music video on the TV.

Sam ignored Dean's wayward attention. "It's hard to say. Some of the jewels were gathered from other museums. Only about half are from the most recent excavation. I'm thinking that whatever it is that's causing problems is from that dig."

"Any strange histories popping up on any of them?"

"I haven't had much time to look—I've been searching for a detailed list of the items in the exhibit, but it's hard to come by. Most of them came from a dig—"

"Dude, you do know you can just say _no_, right?" Dean asked.

At this, Sam frowned. "I was just trying to answer your question."

"Sure thing," Dean said lazily. "So you want to check it out?"

Sam shrugged. "I think it's worthwhile." And it sure beat the heck out of watching Dean channel surf.

"You sure you're not just trying to find some way to get me in a museum?"

The look Sam shot at his brother was one of exasperation. His brother simple did _not_ take him seriously sometimes. "People are _dying_, Dean. Kids."

Dean grunted. "Yeah, yeah. We go off and be the good little heroes that we are," Dean said with a dismissive wave of his hand. "We'll head out first thing in the morning. It's only a half day's drive to Springfield."

With that, Dean didn't even move, just clicked the channel upward again.

Sam stared, waiting for his brother to ask more questions. One thing they'd both learned from their father was to never go in blind. Sam hadn't figured out half of the clues yet, and some good old fashion brainstorming could do them both good.

Dean, apparently, had other plans. Mostly watching TV.

After a minute, Dean looked at him. "What?"

Sam just shook his head. "Never mind," he said. "I think I'm going to get some sleep." He stood, grabbing his bag and heading to the bathroom.

"You sure?" Dean asked. "In a half hour, America's Next Top Model is on. That Tyra chick? She can sure throw a mean cell phone. You throw like a sissy--you could pick up a thing or two."

"Yeah, and I'm sure the fact that she's smoking hot has nothing to do with it," Sam said with an air of annoyance.

Dean shrugged. "I'm just saying, man," he said, letting the channel linger on Access Hollywood where a B-list reporter was fumbling after Lindsay Lohan.

"Right," Sam said absently, closing the laptop. "You're impossible."

Dean just snickered, sinking deeper into the bed as Sam closed the door behind him.

-o-

Springfield was mostly nondescript. As the state capital, it was bigger than their usual locales, but it was hardly the biggest, most exciting town they'd been to.

The Natural History Museum was downtown, positioned at a scenic point on the river, and surrounded by other educational venues. In fact, the museum was at the far end of a decorative pavilion, flanked by an IMAX theater on one side and an art museum on the other.

The pavilion was sunny and sported sculpted hedges and a few statutes among the benches and fountains.

The day was cheery, just like he'd expect to see in the beginning of a movie or something equally cheesy, but the pavilion was quiet in the early morning sun. Traffic on the nearby road was moderately heavy, as was the foot traffic that traversed the sidewalk, but interest in the museum seemed to be low at that time of day.

Not that Dean could blame them. It was a beautiful day. The air was clear and crisp—with a hint of coolness to make it more alluring. The sky was blue and spotted with puffy white clouds. All Dean wanted to do was to take the Impala and drive deserted back roads with the windows down, blasting all his favorite songs, driving nowhere—fast.

Instead he was paying fifteen bucks to get into a museum. Well, thirty, since apparently he was paying for Sammy too. Sam didn't exactly make him as much as assumed, because they always did that kind of thing together. Dean, being Dean, liked to take the lead, be in charge, which often meant he was the one who picked up the tabs, something which he didn't see Sam jumping to change. Sometimes being a big brother sucked. Little brothers were so cheap.

Okay, and truth be told, sometimes being a hunter sucked. He was in a museum, of all places, chasing down a who-knows-what. At a _museum_.

Sam seemed completely intent though, the little geek, and more than a bit excited. He was already pouring over the museum guide by the time they'd paid.

"It's quiet today," Sam said absently.

Dean just grunted at that. How a museum could ever be truly _busy_ was a little beyond Dean. He didn't see the appeal of wandering around room after room, looking at _things_ and reading about _stuff_. There wasn't just enough to do. Sure, he found ancient weaponry appealing, but looking at it through a glass case and reading a little info card hardly did much for him. He wanted to hold them, try them out, see what they were made of.

Museums had too many rules. What not to touch, what not to do. Don't run. Don't eat or drink. Don't have fun. Don't _breathe_.

And this one didn't even have any paintings of naked women to make it seem worthwhile.

He sighed, following bleakly after his brother, who seemed far too content within the large building.

"Dude, there's like no one here," Dean said. "How is this thing supposed to feed when there's no one here?"

"I think that's a good thing," Sam said. "It's not like we _want_ another victim."

"I'm just saying. It could have picked a better location to do its thing. It doesn't seem like a very smart possessed jewel."

Sam shrugged. "It's tied to the exhibit."

Dean snorted a little. "I _know_. I'm just saying." Sam was just too easy.

"Well, just—stop _saying_," Sam said, casting him an annoyed look.

They both quieted, nodding to an elderly couple that passed by.

Sam looked again at the map before heading them forward. Dean paused to examine a jewel bedecked monopoly board.

"Dude, check this out," he said. "I think there's like some ruby or something on Park Place. There's even some blue thing in jail. In _jail_." He shook his head. "Who would have thought?"

He didn't get a response and when he looked up, he found Sam staring at him. "When do you have time to play Monopoly?"

"Come on," Dean said, a bit indignant. "Chicks dig guys who play games."

"You played Monopoly to get a girl?"

"Girls," Dean clarified with a proud gleam in his eyes. "I put them both in jail and they had some...creative ways of getting out, let me tell you."

Disgusted, Sam crinkled his nose. "I don't want to know, okay? Can we just keep going, please?"

"There are better things then getting 200 dollars for passing go, let me tell you."

But Sam was already moving on, shaking his head. Dean gave the Monopoly board one last grin before he trailed after him.

-o-

Sam was halfway down the hall before he caught up. His little brother didn't acknowledge him, just kept walking in pure little brother petulance.

The museum itself was an awkward design--a network of confusing corridors with rows of doors opening into various exhibits. Some smaller exhibits randomly lined the hallways. Some were worth gazing at, he supposed, but there was far too much writing to make it truly worthwhile.

They passed one group of children on a field trip, all donning matching uniforms, while their teacher pointed out things of interest.

Dean checked her out, noting her slim figure and her young face. The children in her group were squirming around an exhibit about ancient sloths, little faces pressed against glass cases, and she glanced at him, then again, lingering this time.

Dean grinned, tilting his head and easing his posture upright.

A smile teased her lips.

Dean was ready to saunter over, when he was pulled sharply in the opposite direction, clear out of the room.

"Dude, what's up with that?" Dean accused, trying to look back over his shoulder to see if he could see her.

"Come on, man," he muttered. "Homicidal spirit in a museum?"

Dean just rolled his eyes, but followed after Sam. "I'm just appreciating the exhibits, Sammy."

Sam sighed, exasperated, pulling Dean down the hall. "The Jewels of the East collection is in the eastern wing. Next to the early American quilt collection."

"Quilts?"

"Yeah," Sam said distractedly. "They're very reflective of early American lifestyle and are often overlooked as a form of art. Probably because it's been historically dominated by women."

"Dude." Dean let his tone say the rest.

Sam glanced back at him. "What?"

Finally Dean shook his head. "You're such a geek," he muttered.

Though he couldn't see it, he heard Sam sigh as he led them onward.

The long hallway was noticeably empty and strangely quiet. The distant voices of the children were lost in it. The odd peace made Dean tense unconsciously, and for a second he wished he'd brought his gun.

Sam had nixed the idea from the get-go--though security might not catch them, there _was_ security, which was a cause for concern in and of itself. Sam was getting positively anal about that stuff these days. Sure, Dean knew it was risky, but it wasn't like he'd ever _actually _gotten caught. And yeah, they were still doing research, but research and the hunt itself weren't always clear-cut lines, and Dean believed in being prepared.

He would have been a good Boy Scout. He was even good at tying knots. He was resourceful and smart and could totally survive in the wilderness for days at a time. He definitely had all the bases covered.

Except for the whole being polite and patient thing. And the uniforms. They had the dorkiest uniforms. The uniforms Sam would have _loved_.

But that was beside the point because Dean _liked _carrying a gun, liked picking which gun to carry, liked putting bullets in his gun, because it made him feel good. Was that so terrible? Feeling good?

He glowered at his brother's back. Sam sure seemed to have some natural aversion to fun. There were times when he had no idea how they were related.

But his brother was on a mission, and so was he, even if this wasn't the part of it that interested him. All he had to do was humor Sam a bit longer, help reason through the details, then find a way to waste whatever it was that was killing the kids. It wasn't that Dean couldn't research, but why would he bother when Sam was so clearly and geekily enthralled by it? It made his brother happy, kept his brother occupied, and, most importantly, left Dean free for other things.

Sam seemed to be in to together-time lately, though, and was ascribing a bit too literally to the old adage that there was safety in numbers. Whatever the reasons, Sam asked him along (more like expected him along) and Dean hadn't been able to think of a good excuse to get out of it. After all, he knew his brother had been under undue stress lately. San Francisco had only made Sam hesitant to make connections with _anyone_ beyond him. And spending time in jail had clearly unnerved Sam to stop taking _all_ unnecessary risks. Since Dean had talked him into situations on both accounts, he couldn't help but feel a little responsible for standing by Sam until he felt a bit more secure.

So wandering museum halls looking for clues was it for today, though he did get to play with the EMF, which made him grin a little bit each time in spite of himself. He had made the thing from scratch after all.

Sam, for his part, was completely concentrated on the map, leading them through the ridiculous maze of hallways and corridors until he said, "I think that's it, down the hall."

Dean peaked down the hall, which looked like every other hall in the place. "What makes you think that?"

"Well, I can read a map," Sam said, not looking up. "And there's a huge sign right in front of your face."

Dean blinked, looking directly to upwards, where indeed a large banner was stretched out above a set of double swinging doors. The large font boldly proclaimed, "Jewels of the East." Underneath the title, it read, "Come Explore the Exotic wonders of the Orient."

"They can make as many signs as they want," Dean muttered. "I can't see why anyone would want to come look at rocks though."

Sam rolled his eyes, almost out of habit, rather than what Dean had actual said. "Dean, they're some of the rarest jewels in the world. The sheer quantity in the collection is impressive. Not to mention that the jade--it's said to be the best quality and cut for one of that size ever found. It was one of the most important finds in that region of the last five years."

Weirded out, Dean raised his eyebrows at his brother. "We cannot be related."

Sam didn't even dignify that with a response. Not that there was a response to be made because Dean knew he was totally right.

They walked in silence, their legs moving in tandem, and the museum resounded heavily with emptiness. That happened a lot, and he wondered if all the unconscious behaviors that he and Sam shared, all the silent communication, weren't part of the reason everyone seemed to mistake them for a gay couple.

Unnerved, Dean blanched a little, slowing his pace to fall out of synch with his brother's. Better to be safe than sorry.

Then the atmosphere seemed to shift, almost imperceptibly, and Dean saw his brother stiffen slightly and his own heart skipped a beat. He felt the itch to be armed again. There was something in the air--an electricity--and Dean reached in his pocket, pulling out the EMF. Turning it on, it crackled and flashed.

"Looks like we've got company," Dean murmured.

"It's a little early in the day," Sam noted, tensing in concern next to him.

Dean was still looking at flashing lights on the reader. Then he looked up and met his brother's eyes. "Well, one way to find out."

-o-

If a hunt could ever be _normal_, Sam might feel a little better by it. But, no matter how well they planned or prepared, there was always something to go wrong.

They weren't even a day into this one and already Dean was in full-on annoying snark mode and they were picking up EMF way too early in the game. They weren't ready for this, they didn't know what they were facing, but now that they were here, they couldn't just ignore it.

He looked at his brother, who had pocketed the EMF. Dean nodded at him, giving him the go ahead. Taking a steadying breath, Sam inched cautiously around the corner.

Stepping inside, they were both surprised to find the room occupied.

There was a boy, maybe seven or eight years of age, standing still in the middle of his room. His blonde hair was parted on the side and he wore a school uniform that matched the group they'd seen earlier. And he seemed completely enthralled, staring at the jewel case like it was the most fascinating thing he'd ever seen.

Dean breathed out an even sigh. They both knew to play it easy around civilians, especially kids. They didn't want to freak anyone out--the last thing they needed was a freaked out kid blabbing something stupid.

"Hey," Dean called.

There was no response. It was as if the kid didn't hear him.

Dean looked at Sam, who looked uncertainly back at him.

"Hey, kid," Dean tried again, stepping forward slightly, "shouldn't you be with your group?"

Sam reached a hand to stop him just as the kid's shaking became noticeable and he fell to his knees.

"What the...?" Dean asked, stepping back in surprise.

Sam's forehead creased with concern. The lights flickered again and a rise of whispers could be heard around them. Realization dawned on Sam, and he cocked his head. "He's being attacked," he said suddenly, right as his stomach went cold.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: This chapter is heavy on plot stuff--kind of a necessary bridge to the more interesting stuff later to come. So I hope this isn't too boring of a chapter. And, yes, there's an OFC but don't fret too much about her. She's mostly a plot contrivance. Thanks to all who reviewed chapter one :) All other notes and disclaimers in the first chapter.

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**Chapter Two**

That was all Dean needed to hear. Like that he was strategizing, moving forward, hoping to find a way to get the kid clear of the room.

The kid didn't blink, didn't even acknowledge the commotion now going on around him, his eyes open and fixated, his face slack and motionless.

"It's got a hold on him," Dean said, his frustration evident.

Sam looked around, barely containing his panic. There had to be some way to stop it, some way to break the kid from the grip of whatever it was that had them. Because if they didn't act fast, they were going to see the kid waste away in front of them. And they couldn't just let that happen.

But they had no weapons and no idea what jewel was causing the harm.

They didn't talk--they didn't need to. Dean went for the boy--moving in closer then before, daring to touch the kid's motionless body.

Sam, for his part, went to the jewel case, pounding on it, uselessly. The case didn't even shake, the jewels barely feeling the impact of Sam's blows. Sam swore. They weren't ready for this--not yet.

Giving up on the case, Sam knew their best bet was to get the kid out by force and run. Dean was tugging but the kid seemed to be glued there, stuck, his body now trembling.

Stepping in behind his brother, Sam joined him, wrapping his long arms around Dean. Trusting his brother to maintain his grip on the boy, he yanked with all his might.

With a grunt, Sam used his legs for leverage, and finally the kid broke free, sending all three of them crashing to the floor in a tangle of limbs.

The air rushed from Sam's lungs as he tried to move, but found himself buried beneath Dean and the boy. Dean was fumbling, trying to maneuver himself to a better position without hurting the kid more than he probably already was.

It took a second of breathless anticipation but the kid was then lying gray and still on the museum floor. His eyes were closed and his mouth open slightly, his blonde hair falling back from his face. "Is he...?" Sam asked.

Dean's hand was almost shaky as it reached down to the boy's neck. "He's got a pulse," Dean said, but it did little to reassure either of them. They knew too well that none of the other victims had survived.

"We need to get him out of here," Sam observed, looking around nervously. "This seemed too easy. What kind of entity gives up its victim without a fight?"

Without speaking, Dean gathered the boy into his arms. "I don't know," he muttered. "Let's just get him clear and then figure out what the hell happened."

Sam was nodding in agreement, when something sounded behind them.

Both brothers jumped, looking over their shoulders. The nearby exhibit featured a model of the cave where some of the jewels were found, including some actual ancient tools used to mine for them. All seemed still.

With controlled but quick movements, Dean stood and started toward the hallway from the exhibit's room, Sam close on his heals. The museum was calm, quiet, but Sam could feel the hairs rising on the back of his neck. Something was off—they weren't out of the woods yet.

Something crashed this time, and Sam turned in time to see a pick axe flying at them. His brother's name caught in his throat--the warning wouldn't be enough. There was a pickaxe flying through the air, right at Dean, right at the kid, and Sam did the only thing he could do.

He tackled them both, lunging on them with his substantial weight, effectively driving both to the floor.

It was only after they were all sprawled (again) that Sam worried maybe he'd been too hard in his approach. Dean was grunting, cursing under his breath, and the kid was still pale and unmoving.

But as he looked up and saw the pickaxe clattering to the floor, he couldn't really regret it. A concussion and some bruised ribs beat being impaled on an ancient pick axe any day.

"What the hell?" Dean finally managed to ask, trying to pull himself to his knees.

Sam's eyes widened as a spike and hammer began shaking on the nearby wall. "It's using the displays," Sam panted, a shadow of surprise weighing in his voice. "It can bring them to life."

"And why hasn't it done this before?" Dean asked, clearly annoyed as he re-gathered the kid into his arms.

"I don't know!" Sam said, scrambling to his feet. He pulled hard on his brother's jacket. "Let's just get out of here before it decides to throw anything else."

Sam pushed Dean in front of him and they tumbled into the hallway, the sound of a hammer clanging noisily into a wall behind them.

In the open, the boys only hesitated for a moment before sprinting down the hall, their shoes struggling to make purchase on the floor. As they ran, the teacher turned the corner, very professionally, the small gaggle of children following lines behind her. The woman gaped as she saw them, halting in her journey, eyes wide at the sight.

"Excuse me, but what are you--"

"Run!" Sam yelled.

If Sam had thought about it, he would have understood that yes, they did deserve the look the woman gave them. After all, they were running, yelling down an empty corridor of a museum. It must have looked ridiculous and she didn't even know they were running from an exhibit that came to life.

But it must have seemed less ridiculous when she saw the boy. "Oh my--" she gasped. "Ethan?"

There wasn't time for this, and Dean wasn't slowing despite her efforts to see the bundle in his arms. Sam took her distraction to herd her after Dean, the group of children scampering in their wake.

The children were tittering now, some nervous, some scared, maybe a few excited. Sam glanced uncomfortably over his shoulder and saw another digging instrument skidding down the hallway, resounding loudly against the floor.

Over that though, Sam could hear the voice--the buzzing, the whispers--getting louder. Whatever it was, it wasn't happy that they were trying to leave.

He looked back again, making sure he was in the rear, and nearly stumbled at the sight behind him. Things were streaming out of the room, the entire exhibit was flying--tools, nameplates, jewels--anything not encased and Sam wondered just how far it could reach.

He didn't really want to find out.

"Dean!" Sam's voice cut over the children.

Dean didn't stop, but looked over his shoulder, taking in the scene behind him. His face screwed up in surprise. There was no doubt--this was out there, even for them.

"What's going on?" the teacher asked, but Sam didn't answer her, just pushed her forward, making sure the kids were still moving, that none of them could see. The kids were already a little on edge, spooked—he didn't need them hysterical.

The corridors were long and winding, but the exit signs were clear enough, and Sam was more than a little relieved when the front desk appeared in the distance.

Dean got there first, out of breath, the boy still limp in his arms. "Hey!" he called, skidding to a halt in front. "A hand here!"

The guards looked surprised and the people at the welcome desk looked shocked, all staring at the crowd of people rushing at them.

"We need an ambulance," Sam called, coming to a stop next to his brother.

They stared at him, then at the boy, at Dean, at the frantic-eyed teacher, then finally the boy again.

Sam stared back in impatient disbelief. "Now!"

Just like that, people began moving. A receptionist reached for the phone, numbly dialing, while two security guards came toward them, reaching for Dean to help put the boy down on the ground.

"What happened?" one asked, his brow deeply furrowed in concern.

"We just found him collapsed," Dean explained. "Started shaking. And we ran."

As the boy was positioned, the teacher was on her knees next to him, the rest of the class circling around them. She reached a hand out, gently touching the boy's face. "Ethan?" she called. "Ethan, honey, can you hear me?"

The boy made no response, and Sam sadly met his brother's eyes. Of course the kid needed help, but they had other concerns—and Sam couldn't help but feel nervous. Whatever had attacked Ethan was still around, still powerful, and they had no idea what it was or its real method of attack. They had no way of knowing when it'd strike again, just how made they'd made it, and they needed to make sure no one else got near the exhibit, that no one else ran the risk of being hurt.

Suddenly a man in a suit burst through the circle. "What happened?"

It was the security guard that spoke, now on his knees next to the child. "Kid collapsed."

"Where was he?"

"We found him by the Jewels of the East collection," Dean answered, standing and shrinking back.

"What was he doing alone?" the man asked, wringing his hands.

"He was with me," the teacher said. "He must have gotten separated from the group."

"Ma'am, we insist that children be supervised at all times," the man said. "It's a museum policy."

It was a legitimate comment, and Sam could see the man meant no disrespect, but it was hardly the right thing to say to the teacher at that moment.

Her eyes were wild, maybe a tad rabid, with a dangerous protectiveness in them. "And tell me, just what would he have been able to get into that would have caused this? Seems like this is something that would have happened regardless of how well he was watched. Children shouldn't be able to _pass out_ for no reason. Healthy little boys!"

At this, the man looked blank, then a little horrified. His disposition changed. "I'm sorry, ma'am," he said. "We'll take care of it. The ambulance is on its way."

Seemingly satisfied, she turned her attention back to the boy, and Sam could see that he was not getting better.

"Ethan," she called again.

Someone handed her a blanket, offered it to her to drape across the boy.

"Little kids just don't collapse," she said, a hint of hysteria in her voice. "Is there anything in here that could cause this?"

The man in the suit was on his knees now, leaning next to one of the security guards. He was in charge—probably the curator, Sam reasoned. "Is he allergic to anything?"

"No," she said, watching as the security pressed his fingers to his pulse point. "Nothing."

"You're sure."

Her figure was hardly intimidating and her soft features normally would suggest nothing but sweetness, but her blue eyes were filled with anger as she glared. "I know everything about these kids. That's my job. Ethan is a perfectly healthy little boy--or was until he came into this museum."

The curator looked stricken. "Ma'am, I assure you--"

Dean looked at his brother, and Sam shrugged. Dean stepped forward. "Look, maybe you should just close the museum down--for the day. Get the people out, do a check, make sure everything's in order. The ambulance will be here soon and tell us what's wrong with Ethan here and we'll all feel much better."

They all looked at him, stared at him, even the receptionist who was on the floor next to the boy, and Dean shifted, marginally uncomfortable.

Sam edged forward. "Let's just focus on what's important--getting Ethan help and making sure everyone is safe."

The curator, sighed, weary. "Myra, how many people do we have in today?"

One of the women frozen at the front desk began to move, typing into her computer. "We've had five transactions--29 people. Seven employees--two at the desk, one management, four security."

"Call Rick and Amanda--have them get the others out. Should be three groups." He looked at one of the security guards. "Use the security cameras to find them."

"What should we tell them?" she asked, her voice soft, maybe nervous. This was not something she was used to or comfortable with.

The curator looked grim. "It's probably nothing," he said. "Some kind of problem with the ventilation system."

His voice was even, maybe a little strained, and it was clear to everyone in the room that hew as lying. But the news was enough to make the receptionist pale before she went to do her duty.

"Everyone else, let's head outside," he said.

"Should we move him?" the guard asked.

"We don't have much choice," the curator said, resigned. "If there's something in the air..."

The man looked old now, too old, and Sam could only imagine all the worst-case scenarios that were running through his head. He wished suddenly that he could assure him that it wasn't a pathogen, that it would be okay--as long as they _got out_.

That was all the incentive the teacher needed and she reached her hands gently under Ethan's shoulders. Without speaking, one of the guards went to grab his legs.

"Okay, kids," Sam addressed the kids, more than slightly eager to get them clear of the threat. "We're going to go outside for a bit."

Their chatter picked up suddenly.

"I want my mommy."

"Is Ethan okay?"

"I have to go to the bathroom."

"Are we going to get to see the mummies?"

There were too many voices to focus on, and Sam focused instead on prodding them outside. The only safe solution was to have them out, and while the teacher's accusation was based on faulty assumptions, they weren't going to contradict a circumstance that worked in their favor.

Next to him, Dean was doing the same. "Everyone out," he said.

The other museum patrons were already returning, and the other security guards appeared. The children were outside, Dean leading them, and he could hear his brother's fluid and awkward voice trying to make them laugh.

"I think that's everyone, Dr. Huber," the receptionist said.

Sam watched as a guard closed the main set of entrance doors off the inner vestibule.

"Okay, Anna, you too," the curator said. He stood by the door, ushering them out. "Sir?" he said, glancing at Sam. "Come on, now. We can give you a refund or a ticket for another day."

Sam managed a small smile, nodding thanks he didn't feel, before he let himself be escorted out into the bright sun.

-o-

Security was buzzing now, and an ambulance had already pulled up outside. Sam shifted uneasily. Having law enforcement around was always a risk, one he was less and less willing to take. They'd already been in jail, and it didn't matter that they'd had a plan all along, it wasn't an experience he wanted to repeat. Ever.

With the ambulance, came the inevitable crowd of curious bystanders, milling around trying to catch a glimpse of the action. They made Sam nervous too—people in the vicinity of supernatural activity was not a wise decision. Though he did appreciate the added anonymity of such a crowd.

Shrinking back, Sam hid himself among the crowd, and glanced at Dean. It was probably good that they were separated for now--they were less conspicuous that way.

He tried to get himself under control. He needed to stop worrying--the cops had no reason to suspect them of anything, and their concerns were not on the visitors of the museum, but the little boy, and the reason the museum was closed.

Besides, things were okay now. The museum patrons and staff were safe. The little boy was being tended to by paramedics, and Sam could only hope they'd reached him in time. He watched from the side. The teacher was leaning nearby him, patting him gently as the medics prepared to transfer him.

Sam sighed a little before turning back to look for his brother.

At first glance, it didn't appear that out of the ordinary. The day was beautiful, with a clear view of the river snaking through the city. Nearby, he could hear the sounds of the city bustling. The museum's few occupants were gathered on the pavilion in front, some of the couples and young families drifting off toward the lakeside or moving to catch a ride back home.

Then he saw his brother, nodding professionally to the curator. Just because people were safe now didn't mean they'd stay that way. They needed to know the museum's plan of attack, how they were approaching the alleged pathogen. Only then could Sam and Dean start to formulate _their_ attack—and find some way to keep whatever they were hunting from striking again.

Turning away, he let himself look out over the rest of the pavilion and let his eyes rest on the little boy. Ethan's color had not improved, and Sam feared they'd been too late.

That, or they'd deprived whatever was in the museum of its meal. And Sam didn't know why, but he had a feeling it wasn't going to take kindly to that. Anyone else who went back inside would be at risk, and that wasn't a situation Sam wanted to deal with.

He hated the duplicity of this job. He wished it could be so much simpler, that he could just tell people that their lives were in danger and not have to worry about being told he was crazy, or worse, arrested.

The medics were loading the boy now, and the crowd was moving away, giving them space as Ethan was lifted into the ambulance.

The teacher had stepped back, having finished relating the information to the medic. She looked wistful and young as she watched them leave.

"You okay?" Sam asked, leaning closer.

She didn't even look at him. "They were my responsibility," she said. "I was the one in charge of them."

"In loco parentis," Sam said gently.

At that, her eyes flicked up at him, a little surprised. "You a teacher?"

Sam shook his head. "I was pre-law for awhile."

She nodded. "I always wanted to be a teacher," she said. "I love kids."

"You're very good with them," Sam observed, hoping it didn't sound as awkward out loud as it did in his head. He felt for her, truly and deeply, but he couldn't deny that making small talk with someone of the opposite sex made him nervous these days.

She smiled sadly, watching as the ambulance pulled away. The siren was loud, but faded quickly, as the ambulance disappeared into the traffic. "What if Ethan's not okay? I mean, what if I missed something."

"Hey," Sam said, his compassion overriding his awkwardness. He didn't want to really know her, but he certainly didn't want her to blame herself for something that she had no control over. If anyone was to blame, he'd take it himself for not being fast enough. "Don't talk like that."

Her gaze remained down.

"Seriously," Sam said, putting a hand on her shoulder. "What's your name?"

"Grace," she said. "Grace Young."

"Well, listen, Grace," he said. "This isn't your fault."

She turned wet eyes up to him. "How can you be sure?"

"Accidents happen," Sam said. "And what happened to Ethan--there's no way to know what it is, or how it happened. What you need to do now is focus on the other kids." He nodded toward the group of children, still gathered and subdued by the site of the ambulance. "They need you."

She looked ready to protest.

"Grace," Sam said, his voice low and compassionate. "Trust me. They need you."

Without speaking, she looked at the kids, and Sam could see her resolve changing. She cast him a grateful look. "Thanks," she said.

He merely nodded as she walked away. He glanced back, to check on Dean, and saw his brother sauntering up from behind.

"Man," Dean said. "If I'd had teachers like that I might have liked school a little more."

Sam glared for a moment then shook his head. "So? What's the scoop?"

"They don't really know anything," Dean said.

"What are they calling it?"

"They're thinking about calling in Hazmat—something to check for airborne pathogens."

"They thinking terrorism?" Sam asked, his brow scrunched in concern. Homeland Security would make their job nearly impossible—their faces had to be all over the security cameras, which would only make the case against them more high profile.

Dean shrugged, remaining impassive. "Hard to say. They want to run some tests first. It'll take awhile for the team to get here—we're lucky we're looking at a small scale operation—it'll take them longer to round up the team to do the tests."

This news unsettled Sam, and he couldn't stop it from showing on his face. "Dean, we can't just let them go in there. That thing could still be dangerous."

Dean pushed him farther from the museum. "We don't even know what that _thing_ is."

"That's my point--" he began, but he didn't get out two words when Grace approached them.

Sam prepared a smile and noticed Dean offering a much more flirtatious version of one, both of which were for naught when they saw her expression.

She was terrified. Sam could see it in her eyes and recognized it as a feeling he knew too well.

"Grace? Are you okay?" Sam asked.

"Have you seen anymore kids?" she asked, her voice laden with panic. "Five of them. Two girls, three boys?"

"You're missing some kids?" Sam asked, his stomach tightening. This was not a turn of events they needed, not one they were even remotely prepared for.

Her face contorted a little. "We were leaving so fast I didn't have a chance to count. And now I'm coming up five short."

"Did you check around the sides of the building? Down by the walkway? Near the river?" Sam questioned.

"Everywhere," she said and tears glistened in her eyes. "They must still be inside."

Dean put a gentle hand on her arm, looking far calmer than Sam felt. "Don't worry, okay? We'll take care of it."

"But shouldn't we talk to museum security? Can't they go back in and check on them? Something?"

Dean shushed her, putting a gentle hand on her arm. His smile was reassuring. "Just relax, okay? You need to focus on those kids and we'll deal with getting the kids out."

"But—"

"You want the kids out, right?" Dean asked.

She nodded, tentatively and suspiciously. Sam couldn't blame her. He wasn't sure what his brother had planned, but he couldn't see a way for this to go well--for any of them.

"Then we may have to do this a bit covertly."

At this, she looked incredulous. "What are you talking about? Let's just tell security and—"

Sam didn't need to hear Dean's plan to know what it was. "They're not going to let anyone in yet," Sam said in resignation. "They're waiting for a team to run some tests. They need to wait for the area to be deemed safe."

Grace gaped. Then she shook her head. "But the kids--"

"We can get them out," Dean replied easily.

"You can get them out? I thought no one could get in."

"That's the point," Dean said with a gentle tilt of his head. "If you want to wait for the authorities to do it, who knows what will happen. But Sam and I--we're pretty good at this kind of thing."

"You're going to break in there?" The incredulity in her voice was evident. Sam couldn't blame her. It was a disbelief he wanted to feel, an argument he wanted to make, if it wasn't so clearly their only option to keep everyone--kids and safety crews--safe.

"Just trust us, okay?" Dean said.

Grace's expression remained skeptical.

"Please, Grace," Sam said, looking her straight in the eyes. "We'll help the kids, okay?"

She held his gaze for a moment, then another. Then her shoulders slumped and she seemed to deflate. "Okay," she said finally, her voice quiet and meek. "Just get the kids out. Please."

"You have our word," Dean said, solemnly. "You just need to go take care of the kids, keep them occupied. Don't let anyone worry, okay?"

She just nodded, lingering a moment longer, and Sam worried for a moment that she'd have second thoughts. But she gave them one last look, to which Sam smiled as reassuringly as he could, before she retreated to the other children.

When she was safely out of range, Sam turned to his brother. "Are you _crazy_?" he asked.

"Look, someone has to keep her calm and keep everyone out here from doing something stupid. We've got to keep them convinced to shut the place down for the day. We'll sneak back in as a security crew and finish the gig."

Sam pursed his lips uncertainly. "We don't even know how to stop it."

Dean shrugged. "So we research."

"Dean, you do realize that we don't have any idea what we're dealing with here, right? We don't even know which jewel we're talking about, much less why it's acting the way it is." Sam's eyes were serious and steady. "We don't have nearly enough information to consider tackling this thing tonight, much less right now."

"I don't want to go after it now," Dean said. "Let's just pull the kids and we'll deal with the rest later."

"That assumes that thing doesn't go after one of them."

"Well, what do you want to do? Sit here and let more people die? Leave those kids in there?"

"No, I just think we need a plan that makes sense, one that we've thought about for more than 2 seconds," Sam hissed.

Dean pulled his arm, drawing him farther from the crowd. "We don't really have a lot of options here. Maybe we can pull off being part of the research team, at least keep them away from the major hot zones. That way we can come back tonight and finish the job. But right now," Dean said, looking purposefully back the building, "we've got five kids in there and a teacher on the verge of sending everyone into complete freak out mode. We've got priorities."

Sam stared at him, a tired expression on his face. "You think I don't know that? I just…I'm tired of taking these risks, man. We can't keep cutting it so close."

Dean grinned half-heartedly. "It's more fun this way," he said. "Keeps you on your toes."

Sam's expression was weary. "It's not going to be easy to get back in without them noticing right now. And we don't have an ID on hand that will get us past. Not that they haven't seen us fifty times already."

"Sammy," Dean said with a slight admonishing tone. "Since when do we need things to be easy?"

Sam just stared at him, annoyed.

"I'll create the distraction, you go back in."

"Front door's blocked," Sam pointed out, nodding toward the crowd of employees.

Dean's eyes flicked around. He spotted a service entrance fifty feet on the edge of the building. "That will do."

"Right, since breaking in in front of everyone will be so subtle."

Dean gave an expression of mock hurt. "Dude, that's what it's called a distraction. No one will notice you, I promise."

"Why don't I create the distraction and you go in?" Sam said, a hint of accusation in his voice.

Dean glanced meaningfully at the young and distraught teacher, letting his gaze linger. "Dude," he said, waiting for Sam to get it. "Look at her."

Sam followed his line of sight, where he too saw Grace, seated on a bench, biting her lower lip. "You've got to be kidding me."

"What?" Dean asked.

"Fine," Sam agreed shortly. "You stay here and flirt and I'll go save some lives."

Dean merely grinned. "I knew you'd see it my way."


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: The plot picks up a bit more in this part. All notes and disclaimers in part one :)

* * *

Chapter Three

Dean studied the scene before him.

He'd just spent the last fifteen minutes engaging all the museum staff he could on a possible reason why Ethan may have gotten sick. What he told them had mostly been the truth, just hyped up with colorful descriptions, in a feigned attempt to be helpful while they tried to figure out what was wrong.

It hadn't been his most brilliant distraction ever, but it had certainly done the trick. By the time he was done, Sam was nowhere to be seen, and no one was even aware of his absence.

By now, the crowd was thinning with the excitement of the ambulance forgotten. The other visitors had gone home, and the only action on the pavilion was daily through-traffic and Grace's small group of children.

The museum employees were gathered by the doors, talking quietly. Dr. Huber looked distressed, and kept talking to a security guard. Dean knew the man was beside himself, hardly at all capable of forming a purposeful response to the incident. This was a small operation and the staff was completely out of their element.

Even the guards would be elementary to deal with. Despite the badges and the weapons clasped to their belts, he could tell they were more there to tell little kids not to touch the glass than to deal with actual issues. The group of them, all four, were huddled just outside the door, talking amongst themselves and nodding to Dr. Huber.

Sam wouldn't get caught—not just because these guys were simplistic in their sense of security, but because Sam was good. Besides, he consoled himself, if Sam did need something, the cell phone would do the trick.

Ten minutes, twenty tops, and the kids would be safe, Sam would be back to sulking by his side, and Dean could accept Grace's praise as the hero.

The thought made him smile.

Glancing at Grace, his grin widened in anticipation. Given how nervous she was now, he did not doubt she would be ready for the taking when Sam got back with the kids. Now he just needed to lay some groundwork.

Sauntering, he made his way back to Grace, who was distantly facilitating some game of tag with her students. She smiled slightly as he approached.

"You doing okay?" he asked, nodding absently to the running and laughing children.

"They haven't noticed anything yet," she said, smiling out at them. "That's about the most I can ask for."

Dean nodded, feigning seriousness. "They're lucky to have you."

"They'd be lucky if I'd kept them all in the classroom today," she said.

"It's good for kids to get out, to experience life."

She raised her eyebrows at him. "I'm not entirely sure _this_ counts as an educational experience," she said. "I just want to get them home."

Dean forced an awkward grin. "Right," he said, shoving his hands into his pockets. _So much for flirtatious overtures_. Clearly he was going to have to take a different approach with Grace. Perhaps he had misjudged the fragility of her emotional state. "I know this must be hard for you."

At this, she sighed. "I'm just ready for it to be over," she lamented.

"I think you're handling this great," he assured her.

She glanced his way, smiling briefly. "Really?"

"Totally," Dean enthused, seeing an opening once again.

"It's all for the kids," she said.

Dean nodded seriously. "I...admire your dedication."

Her smile was sincere, maybe surprised. "Thank you so much," she told him. "That's exactly what I needed to hear."

Barely containing his excitement, Dean opened his mouth to speak, but Grace cut him off.

"Now I feel like I can go back and be everything for those kids. They're my focus. No more of this self-pity. They need me."

Dean gaped a little, mouth working. "Well, um--"

"Thanks," she said, flashing a brilliant smile at him before she turned and walked back to the kids.

Watching her go, Dean's smile fell to a jaded grimace. "Yeah, sure, no problem," he griped.

He needed to hit on less responsible women next time. These ones with issues and baggage and a sense of duty--those were the ones he needed to leave for Sam.

-o-

Getting in was easy.

It always surprised Sam that they could get into well-guarded, well-watched areas without being noticed. And, sure, maybe there was a certain adrenaline rush from this kind of thing, but he was kind of tired of risking their lives and freedom in such blatant and trivial ways.

_Not that saving lives is trivial_, he thought to himself, almost unconsciously countering Dean's argument, which sounded annoying and cocky in his head. But couldn't they try to be a little bit more subtle when they did it? Ways that didn't involve getting their faces on every security camera across the continental United States and parts of Canada? At least this wasn't a major museum--they might avoid immediate detection.

That thought made him laugh. It _might_ avoid _immediate_ detection. There was no guarantee someone wouldn't recognize them (police are supposed to be fairly observant, after all) and there was no promise that the feds wouldn't be breathing down their necks within hours, not days.

There wasn't time for that now, though. Now that he was in, there was the slight problem of knowing where to look. He knew finding any given exhibit wouldn't be a problem, but the problem would be finding five kids who were likely wandering around aimlessly. Because either the kids were still wandering away from the group or by this point they knew they needed to find their way back. Either way, it wasn't likely that they were being helpful and staying still.

Which meant he had nowhere to look and there was a strong likelihood that he'd have to wander around a fair amount before he found them.

And he didn't even _want _to consider the possibility that they weren't alone. Or that they could be terrified or, worse, hurt.

He forced himself to stop, to strategize, not just think. Where would the kids most likely go? What would be most interesting to them? Because wandering around the museum worried wouldn't really help him find the kids. It certainly wouldn't help him get out of there very quickly and let him get back to figuring out how to stop whatever homicidal entity had taken residence up in the jewel collection.

When he was a kid, he would have been drawn to the exhibits with lots of bells and whistles, the ones that were eye-catching. He'd accidentally lost his family countless times in libraries when an interesting book caught his attention and he would end up sprawled in a library aisle instead of traipsing behind his father.

So maybe the kids had been with the group and just got too fascinated by something to continue on. They could still be staring in wonder at an exhibit.

Or they could be more like Dean and purposefully found something else less educational to do. Like rearrange an innocuous display into something sexually suggestive. Or change the positions of the signs so that someone looking for the Ancient Egyptians wound up in front of a display on 20th Century American Entertainment.

He shook his head. _I've been around Dean too long._

He sighed. There was no way to tell. All he could do was search _every_ hallway and hope he got lucky.

Next time, he was _so_ staying on the outside while Dean did the legwork.

-o-

Dean felt useless.

He wasn't sure why he'd thought staying outside would be such a great idea at all. Because while Sam was inside, possibly in danger, flirting with Grace just wasn't that much fun. He hadn't thought that part through very well. He'd just seen Grace's nice figure and wanted to stay and play.

Besides that, his only real job out here was to help Grace stay calm. The only thing Grace wanted help with was keeping the kids calm.

And the kids wanted to play duck-duck-goose.

Dean _hated_ duck-duck-goose.

He'd played it enough as a kid. Sam had adored it when he first learned it. The kid would go around the living room playing it with his dad and brother, patting them on the head (when he could reach it), going endlessly in circles, saying, "Duck…duck…duck…"

By the time he'd say _goose_, Dean had forgotten that they were playing.

Not that their dad ever _really _played. Their father condescended to let Sam tap him on the head, but the only person who ever got to be the goose was Dean.

And Sam had been a freakishly fast kid. Dean wasn't slow, but Sam was tiny and wiry at that age, and could fly easily around the edges of the room, escaping Dean's grasp even when he was _trying _to catch him.

In addition to that, Sam had no concept of when to _stop_ playing a game. The kid had no problem with repetition and wanted to play it again and again and again... Dean played it so often he had started playing it in his sleep.

He loved Sam and all, but even the best big brothers had their limits.

He'd never been happier than the day Sam learned how to play four square, and the days of duck-duck-goose were left behind. He'd vowed never to play it again. A vow he'd had no trouble upholding…

Until now.

Now he was seated, cross-legged in the pavilion, surrounded by little kids. The little girl walking around the outside had curly brown hair and she moved slowly, shyly, calling her little friends ducks.

Dean wasn't sure how he knew, but he could see it in her eyes. The way she kept looking at him and giggling. When her small hand came down on his head, she paused, before blurting out, "Goose!"

At this, the children squealed, delighted, and the girl scampered around the circle.

Dean was really too big for this game.

Standing took time, and it took effort not to squash the little kids next to him. By the time he was standing and had his equilibrium, the little girl was giggling ¾ of the circle away from him.

His legs were long, but she had the distance, and by the time he got to where she had been, she had crashed breathlessly into his spot.

The kids were laughing. Even Grace's eyes were bright. "Uh oh, Dean, looks like you're it," she said, her voice in that singsong voice teachers had for little kids.

Great. Dean often liked being the center of the attention, being the _it _guy, but he wasn't sure this was the kind of attention he was interested in.

His smile was forced and he wanted a way out, any way out, but saw none. Just 12 little faces waiting for him to squat his way around the circle and duck-duck-goose them.

Yep. No way out. Knees bent, he stuck his hand on the little boy who had been sitting next to him, promptly saying, "Duck..."

He did the same to the little blonde girl, the Asian boy, the plump redheaded boy, and the tomboy brunette, before finally reaching Grace's coif. Letting his hand linger, he couldn't help but grin, as he ground out, "Goose."

He took off in a sprint as the kids squealed and he heard the sound of Grace's footfalls on the pavement behind him.

Glancing back, she was laughing, running in a mock gesture of trying to catch him, and he couldn't help but think maybe he'd underestimated this game after all.

-o-

Sam was halfway through the African exhibit and headed toward the History of China when he got lucky.

He heard them before he saw them. Small voices, speaking in rushed whispers and failing miserably at being quiet.

"Hey!" he called. "Hey!"

This effectively silenced them and when he turned the corner, he found them, staring up at him, paused in the center of the hallway.

"Who are you?" one of them asked.

There were five of them, just like Grace had said. Two girls and three boys. All in matching white button up shirts and red plaid ties. The little girls wore skirts and the three boys wore trousers, each adorned in white tennis shoes.

They were staring at him. Five sets of small eyes, wide and focused in fear and curiosity. "What's going on?" one of the girls finally asked. She was tanned skinned, probably Hispanic, her dark black hair pulled back in a short ponytail. She was clutching her backpack straps with an unforgiving grip and her tone suggested suspicion.

Beside her, a little blonde girl with curly locks falling neatly down her back seemed to tremble, ducking behind the first girl, nearly dwarfed by the other girl's backpack. "I don't know if you should talk to strangers," she whispered, trying to be discrete, but failing miserably. Her blue eyes took Sam in with something akin to fear.

Sam tried to smile, holding his arms out simply. "Look, I'm just here to get you guys out of here. Ms. Young sent me."

"How do we know you didn't kidnap her!" one of the boys accused, hazel eyes shining up from behind a mop of brown hair. He was standing protectively next to the smallest of all the children, a little boy who looked vaguely similar to him--brothers, from the looks of it. All Sam had to see was the way they stood side by side and he knew it immediately. The younger one's mop of brown hair was even more unruly and he seemed to be nearly toppled over his with book bag.

This time Sam did smile, with a patience and softness that he hoped was disarming. "They're evacuating the building," Sam explained. "We need to get you out of here."

The girl in front frowned a little, her forehead creasing with thought. "Is that why all the lights were flashing?" she asked.

Thankful for the opening, Sam nodded earnestly. "Yeah, and that's why we need to go." He tried to remain calm, but time was working against them and he needed to get these kids out. Now.

The little blonde girl's eyes became as wide as saucers. "Is something bad going to happen? Are we going to die?" her voice hitched with sincere alarm.

The last boy, the tallest of the bunch, though still as skinny as a beanstalk, looked suddenly fascinated. "Are we under attack by terrorists?" he asked, sounding oddly excited at the prospect.

The blonde wailed at this. "I don't want to die!" she yelped.

The older brother seemed to pull the younger even closer.

"No, no, no," Sam said quickly. "Look, no, listen to me."

But it was a lost cause. The blonde was crying now and the little brother was whispering to the older while the African American boy started making exploding noises and seemed to be envisioning war scenes.

It was the first girl who silenced them. "Guys, come on," she said. "Let him explain." Her voice was so reasonable, so emphatic, that they were all silenced, save the blonde's sniffling.

"It's no big deal. Something just tripped an alarm," Sam explained, inordinately grateful for the girl's intervention. "We're going to meet up with Ms. Young and the rest of your class outside, okay?"

The kids seemed to be considering this, their suspicions and fears hinging tenuously. Then the first girl nodded. "Okay," she said. "Can you get us out of here though? We kind of got lost. Lara had to go to the bathroom." She rolled her eyes at that.

Lara, for her part, forgot her fears and looked indignant, her delicate chin pointing in the air. "I really had to go."

"And Liam wanted to look at the dinosaurs longer," the older brother said with a nod to the younger. "He really likes the dinosaurs."

"Dude, did you see the collection of guns here?" the other boy asked.

Sam took a breath and closed his eyes. "You guys ready?" he prompted. They had wasted enough time. He just had to get them back to the front of the building. That was all. It couldn't be _that _hard.

In his head, he mapped out the museum, trying to think of the best exit. Luckily, the Jewels of the East exhibit was located on the far end, a good distance from their current location. They wouldn't have to pass it to get out, and Sam could only hope that the range of the attacks had to be contained. A few long hallways and they would be out the side door with no one knowing anything.

They all nodded, blinking up at him with all the trust and faith in the world and Sam felt himself freezing momentarily. It seemed, suddenly, like such a huge responsibility--he didn't even know these children, he was just a stranger to them, but he had to get this job done.

Dean was counting on him, Grace was counting on him. Five (well, four, he thought looking at the brothers) sets of parents were counting on him. He wondered briefly if this was how Dean had felt when he was younger, always responsible for him.

He had a twinge of sudden sympathy for his brother. Protecting strangers was nothing like protecting family. He knew that much. And if he felt this concerned with five kids he'd never met before, he could only imagine what it had been like for Dean.

"Okay, follow me," he said, trying to move them toward the door.

"Wait," the blonde girl said suddenly. "We're not supposed to go with strangers."

Sam contained the urge to roll his eyes. "My name's Sam."

"Sam what?"

"Winchester."

"Mr. Winchester?" she confirmed.

Sam smiled. "See? Now we're not strangers."

The first girl rolled her eyes at the triviality of the exchange. "Can we go now, please?"

Sam nodded eagerly.

"But aren't we supposed to hold hands?" Lara asked. "Ms. Young makes us hold hands when we're walking over great distances."

She recited it with careful precision and Sam could tell she didn't know what a great distance was. "Fine," he said. He reached his hand out to the first girl who looked up at him curiously. "You ready?"

She grasped his hand, her small fingers lost in his. Lara eagerly slipped her hand into the girl's other one and deigned to allow the older brother to take her other hand. Liam clung fiercely to his older brother's hand, and the African American boy took up the rear.

Sam had to stoop to make it work, and it made him walk slower than he wanted to. From memory, he weaved them through the exhibits. As they made their way to the long hallway out, the lights flickered.

Sam's heart rate skyrocketed.

"Come on," he coaxed. "Let's hurry."

The children seemed to respond, their little legs working to keep up with his long strides.

Then the lights flickered again, longer now, more pronounced. Then he heard the soft rushing of voices buzzing in the stillness.

"What's going on?" Lara wailed.

It was the jewel. It must have known. He didn't know how, he didn't know why, but it was upping the ante. If it was just him, that was one thing, but he had to get the kids out of here.

It was pretty clear that whatever entity was working through the jewel, though, had other plans.

The lights blinked off entirely, plunging the corridor into an eerie dusk, and suddenly the security doors began shutting automatically at the end of the hall. The place was going on lockdown.

Sam was running now, pushing the kids ahead of him in desperation. He hoisted Lara into one arm and Liam into the other, carrying their squirming bodies and he urged the kids to the exit.

He could see the doors in front of them closing—a thick set of double doors, swinging slowly shut, so slow it seemed to be mocking him.

They'd never make it in time.

Despite his load, he reached it first, just in time to have it shut in his face, sealing with a resounding click. He pounded on it, rammed himself into it, the small boy at his side yelping in displeasure at being used as a battering ram.

He let the boy down, Lara too, and pounded in earnest at the door, trying the handle repeatedly.

There was no give. He knew without trying that it was bullet proof and that the lock would not be picked. It was a security default, and he knew that even with access to the computer systems, it probably wouldn't be opened. Because the problem probably wasn't the security system.

It was the jewel.

And now he was locked in there with it, with a museum full of potentially deadly displays, and five little kids.

He sighed, leaning his head against the door. This was definitely not good.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: The trick with any fic where the boys are separated is how to make them each meaningful and not seem separated. I really hope I didn't screw up the balance. And OCs abound in this chapter, but they're kids. You can't hate kids, can you? The b-day girl's request was Sam interacting with kids. That should explain this chapter some :) See chapter one for other notes and disclaimers.

* * *

**Chapter Four**

Something had happened.

Dean knew that the moment the guards whispered to each other at the entrance. One ran off, talking in hushed tones to one of the suited men. It hadn't even been thirty minutes Sam since had broken in, and there was no Sam coming out and the newfound activity at the doors did nothing to assuage his nerves.

This wasn't part of the plan. Sam was supposed to go in, get the kids, get out with no one the wiser. Whatever movement was going on amongst the guards could only hinder their progress.

The staff had been nothing if not putting on a calm front for the public. So calm, that the remaining crowd had completely dissipated, each visitor being assured by the staff that there was nothing to be concerned about. The ambulance and its crowd were long gone now. Murmurs were saying it was just an air filtration scare. Something had triggered a silent alarm that the staff just wanted to check out. Dean had been the one to talk them out of calling Hazmat, and he could only hope that they'd stuck to that decision for the time being.

So why the sudden urgency amongst the staff? Dean wasn't sure he wanted to know.

Grace Young was still there, her remaining 12 kids standing around, contented to play tag in the pavilion. He'd managed to extract himself from their games, much to the children's chagrin, and it was all he could do not to blatantly pace off the pavilion while he waited for some kind of sign or word from Sam.

Instead he resigned himself to waiting. Because Sam was probably fine. Sam was probably on his way out right now, and Dean was just being a paranoid older brother.

Dean clenched his jaw, trying to relax on the bench.

He'd feel better if his paranoia didn't prove to be right so often. Especially when it came to Sam.

He practically had a sixth sense, a Sammy-sense, which was acutely attuned to the well being of his little brother.

Sometimes it worked overtime, a little obsessively so, but he hated to think of all the times it'd been right, all the times he walked in just in time to help Sam, to save Sam.

And it was going off with alarm bells in his head right now. And the kicker? He had no way of doing _anything_ about it.

Well, he could go in after Sam. The service door would still be unlocked, not that he didn't know a thing or two about how to wield a lock pick.

He glanced to the door though, and sighed. It was now being patrolled by one of the security guards, who had clearly been told to ramp up the security.

Besides, Grace kept glancing at him. If he went in, he'd have no way to keep Grace in check. He had a feeling that if he left her alone, it wouldn't be long before Grace panicked and called in more help, which was not the kind of attention they needed. Sam would kill him if they got themselves wanted for another crime.

Grace kept glancing at him, and when she finally made eye contact she sauntered over, keeping her eyes on the kids.

"Shouldn't he be back by now?" she asked, and Dean could tell she was trying to look casual.

Dean smiled tightly. "It's a big museum."

It was a good excuse, a plausible one, but neither of them believed it.

She bit her lip, hesitating. "He'll get them out, right?" she asked. "You trust him?"

The humor faded completely from Dean's eyes, and he looked at her with the most genuine look he'd given her all day. "I'd trust him with my life," he said. "Don't worry. He'll do anything to get those kids out."

It must have been his eyes, or the certainty in his voice, because her features steadied and she smiled slightly. "I'm going to go check on the kids now."

Dean didn't reply. There was nothing to say. He meant what he said to Grace, meant every word of it. Sam was good, just as good as he was (Dean had trained him, after all) and Sam wouldn't leave a job half-done, especially not with victims at risk. Especially not with kids.

But he couldn't deny the growing feeling of doubt in his stomach as he turned back toward the museum to wait, a grim expression set on his face.

-o-

Frustrated, Sam offered the door another kick, then another, before using his fists and palms again.

His burst of energy died quickly though and he turned his back to it, slumping against it.

"You do know that's bullet proof glass, don't you?" the little girl asked, looking at him like he should know.

He did know, though it occurred to him that he wasn't sure how _she_ knew. "Yeah," he agreed. "I know."

"Are we locked in?" Liam's older brother asked.

"Are we going to die in here?" Lara piped in. Her wide blue eyes were more curious than scared.

"We're just locked in," Sam said, trying to force the resignation from his voice. "We'll be fine."

He didn't like lying, but he did it often enough, for the good of the people he was lying to. These kids didn't need to know about what was out there in the dark and, more importantly, what was lurking right there in the museum, possibly waiting to kill them all.

Looking down, he took them in. They were huddled together, backpacks still firmly on their backs, little eyes wide and earnest and trusting, like he was their savior.

He was just one man, unarmed, with no way out, and with no idea how to defeat whatever it was that was after them. Protecting people was always important, always at the top of their priority list, and these were children. Kids. Innocent. Mostly helpless. They depended on him like they would a parent.

The idea made him feel weak. He couldn't let the kids see it though.

Swallowing, he tried to smile. "Okay," he breathed, his mind frantically working to throw together some kind of plan. "Why don't we sit down and make ourselves comfortable?"

He was stalling, and the kids seemed a little uneasy. "But I thought we had to leave," the other boy said, looking somewhat cross. "That's what you said before."

"Isn't Ms. Young waiting for us outside?" Lara added.

Sam managed a smile this time. "It looks like the security system went on lockdown for some reason. Kind of a fluke. So we just need to sit here and wait until they fix it."

It seemed reasonable enough, and he could see the kids slowly beginning to accept his words. He'd just get them to sitting, let them relax, and hope that without anything physically in the hall to throw at them, that the jewel would be mostly impotent. All the attacks had occurred within the room where it was housed. So they just had to stay clear of it and maybe it couldn't sense them. Maybe it couldn't even get to them.

But it had sensed enough to know they were running. And it had managed to close the door.

It wasn't time to worry yet, now was the time to--

"I'm bored."

It was Lara who announced it. The little blonde flopped in a very un-ladylike fashion to the floor and her chin rested in her hands. The other girl plopped next to her and rolled her eyes--again.

They'd been there all of two minutes. And she was bored.

He looked around. The boys had all taken seats as well and he sank down to join them. They all looked rather bored. Glancing the other way, he looked at the hallway. It was still and empty. Maybe this really was a security glitch...

The bored girl huffed again, and one of the boys poked her. She wrinkled her nose and pulled away. The boy poked again.

Sam wondered if maybe they had iPods in their bags, books, anything to keep them entertained.

Before the little boy could poke her again, Sam decided he probably should act like the adult. Since he was an adult, and all.

"Well, tell me about yourselves," Sam offered finally, resolving himself to keeping the kids calm and focused away from the exhibit down the hall and the locked door right in front of them. "I don't know anything about you."

The kids took this idea in silently, each looking somewhat glumly at the floor. "I'll start," he suggested. "I'm Sam."

The brothers were both staring at the ground still and the other boy was looking at the ceiling. The girls were looking at him, the dark haired one in curiosity, the blonde with impatience.

"We already knew that," the blonde said.

How it was possible for a grade school student to speak with such condescension was beyond Sam, but he found himself blushing regardless. "Then what do you want to know?"

"This was _your _idea, Mr. Winchester," the blonde reminded him, enunciating his name carefully.

He gritted his teeth, trying to think. What could he tell them? He couldn't tell them what he did, why he was here...

He must have looked pathetic, because the dark haired girl took pity on him. "What do you like to do for fun?"

It was such an innocent question, such an obvious question, that he opened his mouth without thinking, but quickly found that nothing came out. What _did_ he like to do? Research? Ride shotgun? Work out? Spend time with his brother? He closed his mouth with a chuckle. "I've been busy lately," he said. "Seems like I haven't had much time to have fun."

The littlest boy's opened wide. "If you get your homework done faster, you'll have more time to play," he recommended. "Daniel and I do ours every day, right when we get home. Then Mommy lets us have a cookie and then we get to play." He nodded seriously.

Lara looked critical. "What do you do if you're not having fun?"

"I work," Sam said, feeling safe that that was mostly the truth.

"What do you do?"

Sam stared. "What do I do?"

"I mean, for a job," Lara clarified. "My dad's a pharmacist." Her pronunciation was neat and proper; no doubt she had practiced it countless times at home.

"And mine's a teacher," the other girl said, nodding seriously. "My mom works as a nurse."

The boys looked a little bored by the conversation. One finally prompted, "So what do you do?"

Sam had been hoping they'd forget that they'd wanted to know at all, because he wasn't sure what he would tell them. "In college I was going to be a lawyer," he said finally, feeling meek in his answer.

"My dad doesn't like lawyers," said the older brother seriously. "He says they're out to take your money. You're not that kind of lawyer, are you?"

"No," Sam laughed. "I'm definitely not that kind of lawyer."

This seemed to satisfy them.

"So," he said, looking at each one. "Who's next?"

The first little girl, the dark haired one who Sam suspected was Hispanic, sighed. "Okay. Well I'll go next. My name's Jaclyn. My favorite thing is when we get to do reading at school--I really like science and how stuff works. My mom says I should be a scientist someday. I'm thinking I may like physics best."

Sam raised his eyebrows. While he was not partial to science himself, this was a girl who was clearly after his own academic heart. He wanted to ask her something more, but Lara had taken the pause to mean it was her turn.

She pursed her lips, smiling at the attention. "My name is Lara. There's no _u_ in it, which is why it's pronounced _Lara_ and not _Laura_. I think Lara sounds much prettier than Laura. A Lara will never be called Laurie."

There was an air of pride in her voice, and Sam didn't doubt that Lara was her parents' pride and joy. And that Mommy and Daddy left nothing wanting for their little girl and that their pocketbooks went deep.

"Anyway," she said, "I really like clothes. I even designed some for my Barbies."

Jaclyn actually looked a little disturbed by this and the boys had completely shut down.

"That's great, Lara," Sam offered, keeping his eyes warm even as he struggled to find a response. "Did you sew them yourself?"

Apparently his question was golden, because her face broke wide and her eyes twinkled. "I did," she said. "On my mom's sewing machine. Do you know how to sew? My mother says is a very important skill. She even makes my older brother take sewing lessons."

"Sewing is for girls!" the older brother exclaimed, wrinkling his nose.

Lara looked indignant, crossing her arms across her chest in a huff.

"Well, it is a valuable skill," Sam offered, hoping to quell the conflicts before they escalated.

"Do _you_ sew?" the other boy asked.

Sam considered that. "I'm pretty good with a needle and thread," he admitted finally, neglecting to add that usually his canvas was his brother's body.

The boys stared a little, dumbstruck. Lara simply looked amazed and half in love.

Blushing in spite of himself, Sam looked to the brothers. "What about you two?" he asked. "Who are you?"

The boys stared a moment longer before the older one blinked and seemed to focus on the task at hand. "Well, my name's Daniel, and this is Liam," the boy said, nodding to his little brother who was still curled up at his side. "Liam's not really in our grade, but he's really smart, so they skipped him ahead. Mom was worried about us being in the same class, but I like having him there. He's so little, so I like to make sure he's okay."

Sam couldn't help smiling. Didn't that sound familiar?

Next to Daniel, Liam beamed proudly.

"And I like being with Daniel," Liam chimed in. "But I also like books and math and writing and worms. And dinosaurs. I was hoping there'd be more dinosaurs here, but Daniel says I'll like the mummies even more. We never made it to the mummies yet. Are we going to get to?"

They were being hunted by some possessed jewel and the kid wanted to see the mummies (not that Sam could blame him—mummies _were _pretty cool and for a second he wished they'd swung by the exhibit before they'd started their research). "Sorry, bud, I don't think we're going to make it over there."

Liam's face fell a little, but he forced a smile back on. "It's okay, because this is like an adventure."

"Do we get to play with guns?" the other boy broke in. "A _real_ adventure would have guns."

Sam raised his eyebrows at the boy. "And you are?"

"Jeremy," the boy said, with a nonchalant shrug of his shoulders. "I can beat my brother when we play Halo."

Sam assumed that was supposed to impress him.

Jeremy looked serious, his brown eyes solemn. Then he added, proudly, "And he's thirteen."

"Huh," Sam said. He glanced at each of their young faces and they were all staring at him, expectantly. "Well," he continued. "It's very good to meet you all."

They lapsed into silence, the kids still seemingly waiting for him to say more.

Sam smiled awkwardly, letting his eyes peruse the floor. He was out of ideas, out of ways to keep them entertained. He didn't know anything about X-Boxes or Barbie dolls and his sewing experience wasn't exactly relevant.

Liam poked his big brother and giggled as Daniel threatened to tickle him. Jeremy took to untying and retying his shoes. Jaclyn fiddled with the zipper on her backpack.

Lara sighed dramatically, letting her blonde curls flop forward as she drew her knees up and rested her chin on them. "I'm bored," she announced.

Sam stifled a groan.

-o-

He should have gone with Sam, Dean was pretty sure of that now.

He should have left Sam out here with the hot teacher and gone in himself. Maybe if had, Sam could have even gotten laid by someone who wouldn't end up dying because of it. Though he knew Sam was a long ways from that, no matter how much Dean pushed and plotted. San Francisco was just too recent, which was part of the reason he had wanted to be the one to stay with the girl this time anyway.

He should have done _something_ different, because as it was, the situation pretty much sucked. Yes, Grace was very nice looking, and, yes, Grace really did look about ready to burst out of that blouse, but Sam was late and it was making Grace all nervous and fretty (which may have been a turn-on, if not for all the little kids she was herding around her).

Plus the fact was that Sam was _late_, and that was never a reassuring thing. Not on a hunt anyway. _Late _meant something had come up, that there was a new kink in the works, that some news had broken--

That something had gone wrong.

It was possible that the kids were just experts at hide-and-seek. Maybe they'd actually been smart kids and holed up somewhere, which would make Sam's job exponentially harder. Or maybe Sam was given them a freakin' tour or something. Sam was a geek after all.

But he was a conscientious geek, and he should have been back by now. Or he should have called.

Dean resisted the urge to punch something. He should have heard from Sam by now.

And the museum employees looked so unbelievably _nervous _that Dean just couldn't wait any longer. Now was the time to feel out the employees, pump them for some info, to assuage whatever doubts were creeping through him.

Resolved, he collected himself, wiping all his fears from his face and approached the building. He picked the guard on the end, loitering near the bushes. He was younger than the rest and kept seeming to get tired, slumping against the wall, before his desire to impress got the better of him and he straightened again, glancing around nervously at his supervisor and the curator.

With a casual gait, he made his way to the guard. He shoved his hands in his pockets and kept his grin easy. When he approached, the guard nodded at him politely, and straightened himself.

"Hi," Dean said.

The guard merely forced a smile and nodded again.

"Crazy day, huh," Dean tried.

"Just one of those days," the guard agreed blandly.

"So will the place be open again any time soon?" Dean asked. "We did get kind of rushed out of there in a hurry."

The guard looked vaguely disinterested. "Just trying to keep everyone safe."

"So there's no chance of anyone going in soon?"

"Sorry, buddy," the guy said, with an exasperated shake of his head.

Dean leaned in, putting a sheepish smile on his face. "I think I left my wallet in there," Dean said, his tone entreating. "I kind of need it, you know. It has _all_ my money."

The man nodded. "I understand," he said. "I promise we'll pick it up before the museum reopens and hold it for you."

Dean laughed a little at that. "Well," he said. "You see. The thing is--well, I kind of need it tonight. I've got this hot date, you know. And I've been working on it for months now--and I've got reservations at this expensive little Italian place..."

Bemused, the guard shook his head. "Buddy, no one can go in. I'm sorry about your date and all, but I'm sure she'll understand."

Dean was about to make another attempt, another argument when the guard's words made him pause. "No one? Not even you guys?"

"That's what I said," he replied. "No one."

"Wait, you mean _no one _can go in?" There was an unavoidable hint of accusation and fear in his voice.

The guard tensed. "Look, buddy, it's closed. At least for the day. I'm sure it'll be open again soon, but for now, just go home."

Dean just gaped at him. The guards had been nervous, somewhat talkative before. His stomach flipped and his heart skipped a beat. "Why?"

"That's not something you need to know," the guard replied shortly.

"Dude, it's just inside the door--" Dean tried to explain.

The guard's already nonexistent patience snapped. He straightened himself, leaning in aggressively to Dean. "No one's going in until the place has been cleared! We can't even get a team in there as it is. Some security glitch, okay?"

Dean was nearly too shocked to be angry and far too worried to lash back. He was a proud guy and didn't handle people talking down to him—but it wasn't the fact that the guard was treating him like a four-year-old that bothered him. No, it was _what _he said that threw Dean off. Something had taken a turn for the worse inside and it wasn't just that people weren't _allowed _to go in. They couldn't.

And Dean had a pretty good notion that the problem wasn't a security glitch.

He retreated without speaking, without feeling. The sun was hot now, high in the sky. He'd sent Sam in alone, and now he had no way of getting in and Sam had no way of getting out. This was _not _how it was supposed to go down.

His steps were uneven and forced, and he felt his senses dimming out at the edges. There was no plan B. He had no idea what to do. He had no idea where his brother was, if he was okay.

"I can't take you anywhere," Dean muttered. "Of course _you _would get yourself locked inside a museum with a friggin' killer jewel."

He sighed. He wasn't just going to sit there while his brother was trapped inside. He needed a way in, a way to make sure Sam was okay...

Dean mentally hit himself.

What was he thinking! Why not just _ask_ Sam himself?

"Think, Dean," he berated himself, pulling out his phone. With a glance around, he ducked to the side, hoping to be inconspicuous as he dialed his brother's number.

-o-

It was really rather anticlimactic.

Sam didn't want whatever it was to really be after them, to be threatening the kids, but they had been sitting there for a good half hour, and nothing had changed.

Nothing had even happened. Not a blip, not a clang, not a movement.

They were still locked in. He still didn't dare let the kids wander away, so they all sat slumped against the walls. The introductions had lasted for a while, but the conversation had lulled now. The edge of fear that had kept the kids alert was long gone, and Sam could sense their growing restlessness.

Jaclyn had retrieved a book from her bag and was reading it. Across from her, Daniel and Liam were playing some game in Daniel's notebook that had Liam giggling and smiling. Lara was mostly sighing and huffing, occasionally opening her bag and looking through it pointlessly. Jeremy, for his part, had gotten a book out of his bag as well under the pretense that he would read it. He even held it open in front of his face, but Sam could see how his eyes had drifted to the blonde next to him, a suspicious grin on his face.

Sam recognized that smile. He'd seen it on his brother's face every day of his life.

It was the smile on Dean's face before he flirted with a girl. The smile Dean gave when he was about to torment him.

Lara was about to be bombarded with something juvenile and male and there would be squealing and whining as a result. That was something he was pretty sure he couldn't take.

"So," he said loudly and purposefully, preempting Jeremy's attack on the blonde.

The kids quieted, looking at him expectantly.

"Do you want to play a game?"

Lara pursed her lips. "Ms. Young said we're not allowed to play in the museum."

Sam nodded. "Well what if we didn't play a game where we have to run around."

Jeremy crinkled his nose. "That sounds boring."

"Maybe we can play 'I spy'!" Liam suggested enthusiastically. "Daniel plays it really well with me sometimes when we're waiting for the bus."

"Okay," Sam said. "Who wants to start?"

"I do, I do!" Liam cried, nearly jumping up and down.

Daniel rolled his eyes a little, embarrassed. Lara looked a bit disdainful and Jeremy appeared more than a bit skeptical. Jaclyn was still holding her book in front of her, uncertainly.

Liam didn't notice. His eyes were wide as they scanned the corridor. "I spy...something...green!"

Liam was grinning, smiling out at the others.

There was a silence.

Sam glanced from kid to kid, noting their expressions. Liam kept looking at his brother's backpack, propped up beside the older boy, a deep shade of forest green.

He didn't want to discourage the game though. So instead he made himself overly thoughtful. "Hmm...is it...Jeremy's watch?"

The group glanced at Jeremy, who indeed sported a sports watch with a green striped band.

Liam shook his head vigorously. "Nope," he said. "It's green and has black on it too."

"Lara's barrette?" Sam tried.

"Nope!" Liam's grin spread across his face.

This made Lara finger the barrette in her hair. "It's more of an olive color than an actual green," she commented.

"Dude, it's Daniel's backpack, right?" Jeremy interjected, clearly a bit bored by the delineation of details.

Liam squealed a little, clapping his hands. "Yes!" he exclaimed. "Jeremy, it's your turn now."

Sam was pleasantly surprised when the older boy smiled a little, though with a twinge of exasperation.

"Okay," he said. "I spy...something...brown."

"Is it Jaclyn's hair?" Daniel asked.

Jeremy shook his head.

Jaclyn bit her lip. "Is it...the bench?"

There was a gleam of joy in Jeremy's eyes as he shook his head again.

Sam sat back, watching. It kind of amazed him. The kids were engaged, laughing, peaceful. This was exactly what he needed so he could focus on other things--like getting out. And if he was going to get them out of there, he needed to call his brother.

-o-

His plans to call his brother seemed simple enough, just get out the phone and dial, right?

They were, however, quickly thwarted by one of Grace's students who walked right up to him and looked him in the eyes.

"Will you play with us?" she asked, all eyes and smiles and curls.

It made Dean want to swear, because no, he did _not_ want to play, but she looked so hopeful, so sweet, so...

"We thought we'd play a little more _duck-duck-goose_," she added with a perfunctory nod with which her hair bobbed about her shoulders.

His mind screamed against this, told him to find an excuse, to win her over with an easy lie and a smooth smile, but he felt himself nodding. "Well," he said.

Before his mouth could form the inevitably _yes_ he was dreading, his phone rang.

"I've got to take this," he said and he was impressed how apologetic his voice sounded.

He turned away, pulling the phone from his pocket, before he could see the disappointment on the girl's face.

"That better be you, Sam," Dean grit out without even checking.

"Yeah," Sam voice came over the other end. "It's me."

Dean's relief from being saved from second graders' games was short-lived as he remembered the real peril of the situation. "Dude, why didn't you call me? The place is on lockdown."

"I know," Sam said. "I don't think it was security though."

"No kidding," Dean agreed, glancing at the nervously whispering crowd of employees by the front door. "They're trying to keep it under wraps, but something's obviously wrong."

"Yeah," Sam said sardonically. "Like the thing that locked us in here."

"You found the kids?" Dean asked, somewhat hopeful that at least that much of their plan had worked out.

"All five of them."

"They okay?"

"A little scared, but they're okay," Sam replied.

The sigh that escaped from Dean's lips was unavoidable, pure relief at knowing his brother was okay. "You need to work on your communication skills, little brother."

Sam snorted. "I've been a little busy, Dean," he replied, and Dean could almost feel his brother eyeing the children.

"So any ideas on how to get you out of there?"

He could see Sam's shoulders slumping. "We didn't have all the history done on this one yet," Sam said. "I mean, we know it was a jewel, but it's hard to say which one. I started doing some research on the dig itself, but so far nothing had come up. Obviously once we know what we're dealing with, we can figure out how to get rid of it, but until then..." Sam's voice trailed off. "I don't know, man. I've got nothing. And the laptop's in the car."

Sam was right, and Dean hated that he was right. Dean hated that Sam was _locked_ in there with nothing to do but _wait_. Dean hated that the entire hunt would be coming down to his researching skills and that, for once, he was flying solo.

He'd done it before. He'd done solo hunts while Sam was in college and he'd managed to head up the research when the situation was called for in the years that Sam had been back with him. Now it was his time to explore his own geek side, which of course was far from geeky. He was sexy, not geeky. Sam was geeky.

"I've got it, okay?"

"You sure?" He hated that Sam sounded skeptical--not that Dean couldn't do it, but neither brother liked to be excluded from the important parts of the hunt.

"The car's a block away," Dean said with a shrug, hoping his forced nonchalance was convincing Sam.

"Thanks," Sam said, and Dean could see the grateful smile playing on his brother's lips.

"No problem," Dean said. "You just watch yourself, okay?"

"Yeah," Sam replied quietly. "You know I will."

There was a silence that lapsed, as the other waited, and Dean forced himself to end the call.

He took a moment to breath, letting the ache subside in his chest, before pocketing his phone and digging out his keys. He needed to make short work of this research--the quicker he could get Sam out, the better.

His exit, however, was preempted. He'd been so absorbed in his conversation with Sam, that he hadn't even seen Grace approaching him.

"Wait, where are you going?" Grace asked, her small hand on his arm.

"Just have to get something from the car—" Dean replied, already pulling away from her.

She may have been a blonde, but she didn't look dim. Her eyes gleamed with suspicion. "What were you talking to the guard about?"

"Just making conversation," Dean explained. He wished he'd remembered that teachers all had eyes in the backs of their heads—even the pretty ones.

"What aren't you telling me," she demanded.

"Grace—"

"Seriously," she persisted. "Who are you guys? And why are you both still here? You could have left but instead you insisted on going in yourselves—without telling security."

"Grace—"

She looked incredulous. "I can't believe I trusted you two! What was I thinking?"

"Grace!" he said again, forcefully this time, gripping both her arms with his hands and silencing her. "Just listen to me, okay?"

Her patience looked strained. "Who are you anyway?"

"We're private investigators," Dean said finally.

The disbelief on her face jumped a notch.

"We're looking into a string of mysterious illnesses, all like the one that Ethan suffered."

Confusion lighted on her features. "Other kids have suffered the same thing? At this museum? We would have heard about it."

"Other museums," Dean said. "Across the country. They're all linked to the Jewels of the East Exhibit. It's traveled from city to city, the episodes all following it."

Grace was staring at him, a little dumbfounded now.

Dean could see he was gaining ground. It was close enough to the truth, just far enough out there to explain his odd behavior but just real enough to make it plausible.

"What kind of connection?" Grace asked. "Is there some kind of chemical on the jewels? Something that got exposed in the excavation?"

Dean didn't have a plausible counterargument, so he merely shrugged. "That's what we're trying to figure out."

Her brow was furrowed now. "Are the kids in danger? Being inside with it?"

"That's why I sent Sam in and not security. He's careful. He's good. He knows what we're dealing with."

It was clear Grace didn't quite trust him, but she didn't look ready to protest anymore. "Okay," she said.

Dean breathed out an even breath, trying to keep himself from looking too relieved. "Okay."

Now he just had to figure out a way to get Sam out of there before all the crap hit the fan.


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: I'm so glad that people are still reading despite the somewhat OC-focus. More action is to come in this chapter, I promise :) Next update will be later--I'm out of town for the weekend visiting a very cool friend, but I'll get the next one up as soon as I can. Kudos to carocali for totally calling the next twist in action, whether she knew it or not! All other notes and disclaimers in chapter one.

* * *

**Chapter Five**

It was good to hear his brother's voice. It was good just hear an _adult_ voice. Not that he didn't like kids. But it was more than a little stressful. They always had questions, always had comments, always had needs. None of which Sam actually minded. In theory, he actually liked it quite a bit.

Jess had wanted kids--four of them. She'd had two siblings herself, one older and one younger, and she said that odd numbers of children were cruel for the middle child. Two was too few, and four seemed just perfect. She wanted to have them at even intervals, maybe three years--far enough apart to give each one a chance at being the baby, but close enough that they could be playmates.

Sam had never really let himself think of children, had never considered continuing the family line, because all he knew about babies was that they killed their mothers when they were six months old.

But he couldn't tell Jess that, wouldn't _ever_ tell Jess that, and there was no way he could ever shatter her dreams so carelessly.

And when he looked at her, it wasn't hard to see. Him with his law practice, Jess a nurse. Their two story traditional home in the suburbs somewhere. And three blonde haired children, the girls with curls like Jess, maybe one named Mary. And a little boy he could only see as Dean. He could see the way Jess' stomach would bulge, he could hear their voices as they called him "Daddy," and Sam believed it was possible.

Sam had been wrong. Babies didn't kill their mothers at the age of six months. Only he did. And he had killed Jess and all his dreams of a future and children with her. If he'd had any doubts on that one, Madison had cleared that up for him.

There was no room for children in the hunt. He should know. He lived it every day of his childhood. He would never inflict that kind of life on anyone else.

So he wanted nothing more than to get them out of here--to not just protect their lives, but their innocence as well.

He just wasn't sure if he could do that or if he even was by keeping them there. So far all was quiet, but Sam had a sneaking suspicion that it couldn't stay that way.

Looking around, he saw Liam and Daniel whispering, not conspiratorially, but purposefully. The other kids were all mostly preoccupied, bored and restless, but quiet.

Another beat passed and Daniel stood up, Liam shortly behind him.

"Uh, Sam?" Daniel asked, walking up to Sam, Liam a half step behind him. If Sam didn't know any better, he'd suspect they were joined at the hip. Memories of his childhood with Dean sprang to mind, but he pushed them aside.

"Yeah," Sam said, a bit tentatively. They had that look that Sam knew enough to dread. That innocent, hopeful, pleading look that told him things were about to get more complicated.

"Liam--he has to go to the bathroom."

The request was so typical, Sam realized. He'd never been around kids a lot--he'd never been around _people_ for most of his life--but he could remember his own days tagging along behind his father and brother--the days of asking for all the wrong things at the wrong times, wanting something just because he knew he couldn't have it. He never meant to be problematic, but now he could understand his brother's exasperated sighs.

"Can he hold it?" Sam asked, keeping his voice gentle. Exasperation only made things worse--that much he remembered clearly.

Liam bit his lip and shook his head. "I got to go really bad," he said, looking up at Sam through his fringe of bangs.

Sam wanted to tell him to hold it, to go in a corner or something, but the kid was looking at him, his brown eyes big and wide and damn, it if the kid didn't look like a kicked puppy. Now he knew why Dean always complained about his puppy dog eyes.

He sighed. "Okay," he relented, far too easily. "Just...give me a minute, okay?"

This seemed to be an adequate compromise and Liam exchanged a shy glance with his brother.

"I just need to make a phone call first," Sam said, fishing his phone out of his pocket.

He couldn't just wander around the museum without telling Dean. It could be potentially dangerous, and his brother needed to be kept aware of what was going on--even though Sam dreaded having to tell him.

Dean wouldn't like it, Sam knew that much. He was pretty sure his older brother would try to talk him out of it. But he couldn't just keep the kids here, make them sit and do nothing. They had to move at some point or they'd never get out.

It was perfectly reasonable.

Now he just had to convince Dean of that.

-o-

He knew his brother's laptop better than Sam thought he did. He just hoped Sam didn't take the time to check the history tab in the Internet browser...

He found himself grinning despite the situation. It wasn't like it was something Sam hadn't seen before, even if the little prude wouldn't admit it. He sometimes wondered what had made Sam so shy about it...his little brother certainly didn't take after _him_ in that regard.

But there was no time for that now, he thought, a bit mournfully. He glanced around. Too many people around anyway. Public places were not ideal for that kind of browsing.

Besides, Sam was counting on him, and Dean was not about to let his kid brother down. He could torment him later--when he was safe and out and Dean could watch him sulk in all his petulant glory.

For now, he took to the task at hand.

Sam had about fifty billion bookmarks, but Dean was pleased to discover that his brother's anal retentive qualities extended to the laptop. All the links were compulsively organized and filed under folders. Under "Jewels of the East" he found a host of links, detailing everything from the list of museums, to a documentation of the jewels on display, to an article on the excavation process.

"Not bad, little brother," Dean murmured under his breath as he skimmed the info. He noted the location of the excavation, the company involved and the brief synopsis of where the jewels originated from. Opening a new browser, he got Google going, plunking down the information and hoping for hits.

He was perusing a list of articles and sites when his phone disturbed his concentration. He fished it out, answering it one handed while he continued browsing.

"Yeah," he said.

"Dean." Sam's voice was low and rushed.

Dean straightened, moving to hold his phone. His protective instincts flared. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Sam said, quickly and unconvincingly.

"Sam."

"I'm going to take the kids to the bathroom."

Sam had to be kidding. "You're what?"

"They need to go, and I can't sit here forever."

Dean shook his head. "I think you should stay put," Dean said.

"I know," Sam agreed. "And I wish I could." Dean could hear the regret in Sam's voice, contained just below his resolve.

"Tell the kid to hold it or something," Dean advised. He glanced over his shoulder. Grace was eyeing him. "You just need to keep yourself safe. And those kids."

"Dean, we don't even know what we're up against," Sam reasoned. "It hasn't made any attack since it locked us in."

"Probably because it's waiting for you to make a mistake."

Sam sighed. "If it is what locked us in, then we're sitting ducks anyway. It will just keep us here until it finds a way to force our hand. And we can't get rid of it from the outside. So the way I figure it, moving is about the only way to figure out what we're up against."

"This plan sucks, man," Dean said. "It's like throwing spaghetti against a wall and seeing what sticks."

Sam snickered softly. "Sounds like your kind of research."

Dean couldn't stop himself from smiling back. "Yeah. It kind of does. But still..."

There was a pause, a stillness between them that radiated with fears and trust. "I'll be careful, Dean," Sam said finally. "I promise."

"You better," Dean muttered.

He could practically hear Sam smile before he ended the call.

-o-

He started them off slow. They crept, single file down the hall. Lara insisted they hold hands again and Sam wasn't really opposed. Though it caused him to stoop, he felt Jaclyn's small hand gripping his and took comfort from knowing they were close.

They made it passed the first set of exhibits with no consequence.

Maybe the thing was done with whatever attack it had been mounting, Sam thought, a bit irrationally.

The kids, though not totally sure what was going on, knew enough not to talk. They were nervous, a bit fidgety, especially Liam, who kept wanting to skip.

Sam's focus, though, was singular. He just wanted to get them to the bathroom and back out. Simple and easy. Then wait for Dean to find a way out of this mess.

The first hallway was easy, no problem, and Sam felt himself relaxing a little. This could work out, after all. Just a few more turns then they'd reach the bathroom and they'd be in the clear. If the thing was dormant again, it gave them much more flexibility and gave Dean a lot more time.

Sam's optimism, however, was short lived.

He heard it first, a crash behind him that sent his heart rate soaring. As he turned to look, he thought he should probably tell the kids to get down, but he wasn't fast enough.

He saw it coming, but not soon enough. He was just fast enough to turn around and catch the Grecian urn with his head.

He didn't go down, not all the way, but his vision fractured and his consciousness splintered. Vaguely, he was aware of the chaos around him--the flying objects, the sound of the children yelling, someone crying, but he was too disconnected to really act on them.

Move. He needed to move.

But his body was moving sluggishly behind his thought process.

When he finally did move, blackness darkened his vision dangerously. Apparently his body didn't want to move.

He closed his eyes, hoping to diminish the glare of the lights and the blur of movement that were making him feel like he was coming apart at the seams.

"Sam!"

The voice was small. Childlike. Terrified.

"Sam!"

The girl. He knew her name.

"Sam, come on!"

And someone was tugging at him, moving him.

Suddenly the world came into focus.

He saw broken shards of glass, pieces of displays.

Then he saw Jaclyn's dark hair peaking out from behind a bench. The other kids were huddled behind it as well.

Sam's eyes roamed outwards and he managed to duck before a pair of Fiskars from the Quilt exhibit caught him full on.

They needed to get out of there. Now.

Fumbling, he managed to pull himself to his feet. "We need to go," he panted. "Into the hallway."

The kids scattered, scampering in front of him. He followed, trying to keep his head clear, and not really succeeding. But he did what he could, his body moving on pure adrenaline and out of habit. He was no good to the kids unconscious, and that was something he couldn't let happen.

The hallways blurred, looked the same. They were moving too quickly--from flying fish (there were _fish_ flying at them--_flying_--and one nearly took out Jeremy) to angry...Eskimos?

Sam's mind grappled with that new fact, struggled to make sense of it. Where they moving? Coming to life? Moving after them?

Sam wasn't sure, but what he did know was that the needed to move--faster.

They needed to hide, they needed shelter. They were moving so fast that Sam didn't see where the kids were leading them until he saw the jewel case.

"No!" he yelled. "We need to keep moving!"

But it only took a second, one second, and Sam was too late.

It was Liam it caught, the little boy stuck solidly to the floor, his mouth hanging open and his eyes wide and hypnotized.

Then he heard the voices--the whispers--rising maliciously.

Jaclyn was screaming--Daniel was yelling, yelling and moving forward.

Roughly, he held Daniel back, pushing himself forward toward Liam.

His mind flashed, trying to remember--all they had to do with Ethan was pull--hard.

He didn't think about anything more than that. His head ached, but there wasn't time for that. Wasn't time for anything. If he waited any longer, Liam would be beyond saving, and he still had to get the rest of the kids out of harm's way.

His hands gripped the boy—hard, yanking with all of his weight. It was a sharp and haphazard action, and when the boy jarred free, he tumbled backwards, the boy in his grip.

Hastily, he tried to stand, fumbling a little as he did so. Liam's body was limp and Sam shifted him carefully until he was cradled in his arms.

The kids were pressed against the wall, someone was still screaming, and as Sam pulled himself to his feet, he yelled, "Go, go, go!"

They didn't need to be told twice. They didn't know where they were running, just that they were running, being prodded ahead by Sam.

The corridors flew by, each exhibit that they passed offering some new items to the flying debris. Jaclyn barely ducked a piece of a fossilized bone, which shattered into the wall above her head, raining pieces down on all of them.

Jeremy turned the corner first, Jaclyn right behind him, but they both shrieked. Jeremy hit the ground and Jaclyn pulled herself back around the corner, running into Lara as she did so. Sam didn't have enough time to stop his forward momentum, and he skittered into the next hallway.

This time, he didn't even see it coming. He turned the corner and then felt the pain.

His vision disappeared completely and when it cleared he was looking down at a spear lodged deeply in his side. It was long and had jagged edges, which he felt all too acutely stabbing in his side. "Son of a...," he muttered, too stunned to even know what to do with it. He'd walked right into it.

Staggering a little, he sank to his knees, his arms shaking with his burden. It was all he could do to keep Liam from hitting the floor hard, but his arms could no longer hold the child.

White pain blinded him and he tried to remember to breathe. He had to get it out. Now. Logically, he knew that wasn't the smartest thing in the world--the pressure of the object usually helped control the bleeding. But the pressure was nearly unbearable, and he couldn't very well run away while impaled.

With a steadying breath, he looked down again. He briefly thought about snapping it off and leaving some of it in to keep the bleeding to a minimum, but there was no way he was going to be able to snap something that large around and he didn't have a knife anywhere handy much less the time to sit there and saw at it. The spear wasn't all the way through, but it protruded from his front, low on his side. _Looks a little like a shish kabob._

But it was low and to the side--probably hadn't hit anything vital, which was good, because pulling a spear out of his intestines did not sound like his idea of a good time. Not to mention the fact that he'd probably be dead within minutes if it did--or worse, die slowly from sepsis.

He would rather avoid both those options.

Instinct told him to probe the area, to better assess the damage, but he could hear the kids yelling amongst disconcerting thumps.

This thing wasn't screwing around.

Gritting his teeth, he grasped the spear and yanked—hard.

His vision grayed and his head went light. His entire body buzzed, throbbing distantly with a pain he knew he'd feel in a minute.

The gray abated and his senses solidified.

And then the pain returned with a vigor that took his breath away.

He wanted to cry, he wanted to curl up and sob with it.

But there was no time for that. He needed to get up, to help the kids.

Fumbling, he managed to hunch over, onto his hands and knees. The movement alone left him panting, squinting through tear-filled eyes.

Blinking up, he could see something in front of him, a lifeless form, inert on the tile. Liam.

He'd nearly forgotten about the boy in his injury, and he was suddenly relieved that the spear hadn't hit the boy when it had impaled him.

Something clattered above him and he ducked instinctively. He had to get out of here, out of the line of fire.

Shaking, he managed to snake a hand out to grasp Liam, tugging him with him as he scooted around the edge of the wall where he found the other children looking at him.

"What's happening?" Lara screamed.

Daniel was on him, all over him, grappling for Liam. "I need to see my brother."

Sam really didn't have the energy for this. His vision was doubled, swimming, and he felt suddenly nauseated. "We need to—"

They were all talking at once now, too fast and Sam couldn't keep up. He pulled Liam up into his arms, away from Daniel away from the others.

Fresh debris was sailing around them and something shattered over Jeremy's head.

"We need to move," Sam gritted out, forcing himself to his feet.

He didn't know where he was going, but just that they had to move. Sitting still they were far too easy targets.

"Go," he said, trying to sound authoritative.

He got to his knees, Liam hoisted over his shoulder.

Swallowing, he found his voice. "Go!"

Something skidded hard into the wall behind Lara, and that was the only impetus the kids needed to get them moving again.

Getting himself moving was nothing short of a miracle. Well, that, and pure adrenaline, but he didn't stop to think about it, didn't stop to think about how much it would hurt later, how hard he would crash when he finally got the chance.

Crossing the hallway, he saw Lara frozen in place, staring at something down the hall. Hesitating, he looked down and did a double take.

He stifled a curse. The exhibits weren't just flinging pieces at them anymore. They were _moving_. Honest to God moving, coming at them, with all the intensity of actual living things.

Either that, or he was hallucinating those angry Native Americans running after them with bows and arrows—he was pretty sure that he did have a concussion, after all.

But Lara was screaming—a high-pitched, desperate wail that made him wince.

So much for hallucinating.

Jaclyn and Jeremy were ahead of them, pulling a protesting Daniel with them. Daniel was still distraught, turned in hope of seeing his brother, still limp in Sam's arms. But Lara was frozen in place, staring at her impending doom.

Not if Sam had anything to do about it. He may not be armed, but he could still run (until his adrenaline ran out anyway). Without missing a beat, he hoisted Liam over his shoulder, and the small child flopped lifelessly. He stooped to yank Lara into his grip, pulling her against himself, ignoring her screams, which now pierced directly into his ears and ran.

Despite his injuries, his long legs quickly brought him up to speed with the rest of the kids. Just as he herded them around a corner, something whizzed over his shoulder--an arrow.

Great. Now they were shooting _arrows_ at them. Like the spear in his side and the goose egg on his forehead weren't enough.

But it didn't matter, he reminded himself. He had to get them out of here. Now.

They needed someplace safe, someplace where museum exhibits wouldn't come flying at them, attacking them—

The bathroom. He had no idea how far of a reach the entity had, if it could make anything in the walls of the museum come to life, but the bathroom seemed like a pretty safe bet. Safer than anything else. Everything big was anchored down—and he had a hard time envisioning how a toilet would rear its head and attack them.

Doors would be a problem though. They needed more protection. Something solid to hide behind. So far the spirited items were easily contained by walls and simple tricks.

They were almost to the bathrooms now—one for males, one for females—then he saw it. The handicap bathroom. It was a single stall, and the door wasn't a swinging one, but one with a handle, which meant a lock on the inside.

He skidded to a halt, pulling it open as he tried to slow himself. "In here!" he yelled, ushering the kids in as best he could. Jeremy and Jaclyn flew in, Daniel on their tails, another arrow flying by them. Looking nervously down the hallway, he could see the charge of the two Indians. He didn't hesitate a moment longer though, thrusting Lara inside before pulling himself and Liam in as well.

His fingers numb and fumbling, he locked the door, just as a war whoop came crashing down outside. The children pulled back, cowering in the corner behind the bathtub. Sam kept his weight against the door, feeling it vibrate as it was attacked.

The whoops died though, dissipating.

Stillness followed.

He could hear the children panting behind him; he could feel the distant thump of Liam's heart.

They were safe—for now. He didn't dare venture outside. He didn't want to know if the Native American warriors were still there, or what other exhibit had come to see them.

Instead, he turned his attention to the children.

The older four stood stock still, staring at him. Even Jeremy was a bit shell-shocked. Sam licked his lips. "Are you guys okay?"

They kept staring, blinking intermittently. Lara's tears were still streaked on her face, but her sobs had ceased. Jaclyn was studying him, her mouth hanging open. It was Daniel who moved, running at him.

"Liam," he said breathlessly, his small arms reaching up for his brother. "How's Liam?"

Sam didn't relinquish Liam, but instead carefully went to his knees before lying the smallest child down. He was gentle with the boy's head and arranged Liam's body into the most comfortable position he could.

The bathroom was tiled with a dusty blue color, and against the tiles, Liam looked ghastly. His skin was colorless and his eyelids were nearly blue. The brown mop of hair on his head laid askew, flopping back limply.

Daniel was perched next to him, alternating glances between his brother and Sam.

His fingers were shaking as they felt for the child's throat and he blinked away the doubling of his vision. His own heart was so loud in his ears that he barely felt the thumping of Liam's heart.

Too slow.

He sighed. Turning, he smiled a little at Daniel, patting the older brother's shoulder before attempting to move backwards.

There was nothing he could do for Liam. He had no resources and no way to better assess what was wrong with him. He'd need to call Dean, to find out how Ethan was doing--if the other boy would recover then maybe Liam had a chance.

He looked down at the boy again, taking in the way his body lay limp on the tile, and couldn't escape the guilt. He should have gotten them out of here. He should have protected them. Maybe if he'd been faster, smarter--if he hadn't gotten himself hurt.

Suddenly his side spiked with pain as he remembered his injury. He'd yanked the spear out pretty quickly. Trying to be discrete, he fondled his side, but all he could feel was blood.

Great.

He felt dizzy and the room spun. He braced himself against a wall. He needed to take care of himself or the blood loss would get to him, and then the kids would be nowhere.

"You okay?"

Sam looked up and into Jaclyn's concerned face. The Hispanic girl was watching him, looking tentative.

"Yeah, I'm just...," he paused as he let a bout of nausea rip through his stomach.

"You don't look so good," she advised. Then she stood, moving closer. "Are you hurt? I mean, besides your head."

Sam smiled wanly. "Just a scratch. On my side." He pressed his hand hard against it, containing a grimace. He needed something to wad against it, something to tie it down with.

"My dad says that if you press down really hard on cuts, that'll help them stop."

"You're dad's a smart man," Sam said, his voice husky from the pain. "I don't suppose you've got a band-aid in that backpack of yours?" _Or a pressure bandage? Gauze? Needle and thread? Morphine?_

Jaclyn looked down at her backpack, which she had clutched in front of her. She put it aside. "No, just books," she said, a bit mournfully.

"Well," Sam said, trying to relax against the wall. "We'll just have to take what we can get."


	6. Chapter 6

Title: Suffer the Children (and the Geeks) 6/10

A/N: Thanks all for the kind words. I hope this next installment doesn't disappoint. See chapter one for other notes and disclaimers.

* * *

**Chapter Six**

Dean waited, staring at his phone. He checked his missed calls list even though he knew he'd been watching it the entire time. Sam should have called by now. Sam said he'd call.

With a frustrated sigh, he put the cell phone to the side and looked again at the search screen open on Sam's laptop. He still needed to have something to tell Sam _when_ Sam did call. Something about what this was, how to get rid of it, why it suddenly increased its powers.

But this was Sam's gig. Sam did the research. Dean did a little, and it wasn't like he couldn't--he just didn't _enjoy _it like Sam did. He'd never seen someone get so excited about obscure historical facts like Sam did. The kid couldn't tell him anything about daytime TV, classic rock, or horror flicks, but Sam knew just about every religious custom, half a dozen Latin exorcisms by heart, and every mystical sign or sigil from around the world.

Dean couldn't help but feel guilty though. He was the one who wanted to find a hunt, and he'd spent the entire time leading up to it goofing off, more than happy to let Sam do all the work. He'd always figured he'd pull his weight when it came to the actual extermination of evil, but now he was on the outside for that too. He hadn't intended for any of this to happen, but that didn't mean that some of it wasn't his fault.

And if Dean could just focus, it wouldn't be so bad. If his brother wasn't trapped inside the stupid museum with some homicidal jewel…

He almost laughed at that, a bit hysterically.

He was a man of action; he liked to be doing things. He didn't want to be doing _research_, especially when it meant his brother was alone.

Not alone.

Stuck with five kids. Kids that would just make Sam all the more vulnerable. If he was too busy protecting them, he wouldn't be able to protect himself, and why hadn't he called yet?

Dean looked around, hoping to see some change, maybe his brother. He was seated on a bench on the side of the pavilion, trying to look casual as he perused the Internet. The security was still milling around, looking mostly useless, while the employees seemed to be getting bored.

Grace had engaged the kids in a rousing game of red rover, but Dean could see her anxiety. Her glances went to the door more often then Dean's did.

She turned again, and caught his eye. Looking briefly at the children, who were playing obliviously, she made her way to him.

Her smile was nervous and tentative, and Dean braced himself, setting the laptop to the side.

"Hey," she said.

"Hey."

She sighed, turning herself to sit next to him, her eyes still on the kids. "It's been a long day."

Dean could understand that. "It'll be over soon," Dean assured her, with some semblance of confidence that he didn't feel but that he would never let her know about.

"They're my responsibility, you know?" she said, chewing her lip pensively. "If anything happened to them…"

"I know," Dean said, his voice soft with empathy.

"I just feel so helpless!" she exploded, whirling at him. "Shouldn't your friend be back by now? With the kids?"

Dean swallowed hard. He might be nervous, but he certainly didn't want her to be. Especially since her nerves might lead her to ask for help from the higher ups. As if being trapped in there with five kids wouldn't be enough to deal with, Dean knew they didn't need bank security become aware of Sam's presence or his identity. "I'm sure there's just been a small hold up," Dean said. "It depends where the kids were—if they were scattered. Just relax."

Relaxing was about the last thing that she seemed to want to do and she looked distrustfully at him. "You said this would be the best way."

"And it is," Dean replied without hesitation. "Sam will get those kids out. You just have to give him a bit more time."

"Time—" she spluttered. "But—"

Dean reached out and took her arm, guiding her gently to the side and shushing her. "I know how you feel--"

"You don't know how I feel!" she snapped suddenly, turning tear-filled eyes at him. "Those kids are _my _responsibility. Mine. No one else's. If something happens to them..." Her voice trailed off and she shook her head.

Grace's words sounded so familiar—he could feel them in his soul. He laughed a little, shaking his head with a bittersweet smile on his face. "I know exactly how you feel."

"How?" she said. "How could you possibly--"

"Because Sam's my _brother_," he said finally, his eyes flashing and an edge coloring his voice. "He's my kid brother and I've spent my entire life looking after the kid. If anything happens to him, that's on me. It's all me. And I can promise you, it'll take me far longer to get over that than you can ever imagine. So don't tell me that I don't get it. And don't think that I'm not doing everything I can."

His words silenced her and she was staring at him, her face pale and her jaw tight.

He let his eyes drop to the ground, taking a deep breath before looking up again. "Grace, just trust me, okay?" he said. "I wouldn't have let Sam go in there if I didn't think he could get out." Or so he kept telling himself, as if he could somehow talk himself into believing it.

She was trembling now and Dean could see her eyes glistening with unshed tears. "I just...I don't know what to do," she said. "I feel so useless. So completely useless."

Dean ached with understanding. "I know," he whispered. "Look, I know."

Her gaze stayed down as she struggled to control her breathing. Dean hesitated for a moment before reaching out and pulling her close to him. He didn't hug often and he didn't hug easily, but Dean couldn't deny the pull of joint grief and he sought comfort as much as he gave it.

-o-

He really wanted to get out of here. He wasn't sure how long they'd been in the bathroom, how long they'd even been in the museum, but Sam was ready to get out. Get out and as far away as possible. Sleep in a bed, take a shower, eat a meal--hell, even ride around cramped up in the Impala for a week straight.

He just wanted to get out of here.

And maybe some place with some good painkillers. He'd be happy with a hospital at this point.

Glancing down at his side, he gently lifted the outer-shirt he had shed in order to press against the wound. At first, all he could see was red, and his face contorted uncontrollably in disgust. He looked around, and found the children quiet. Daniel was perched next to Liam, holding his hand and studying his face. Jeremy was riffling through his backpack, presumably looking for something to do. Jaclyn and Lara were seated side by side. Jaclyn had her head ducked miserably between her knees. Lara rested her blonde curls on Jaclyn's shoulder.

Satisfied that they were preoccupied, he lifted his shirt and jacket, trying to see how the wound was faring.

It was messy, the flesh ragged and ripped and blood-soaked. But if it had hit something vital, he'd probably be dead by now, or much closer to it. Despite the painful and grotesque nature of it, it was mostly a flesh wound.

That fact would have reassured him much more had he been in the Impala or at least under Dean's steady hands. This was a wound he could survive, he didn't doubt that, but he wasn't sure it was a wound he could work through.

But if he couldn't work through it, he would probably never get out. And that was something he wouldn't survive.

He took a shaky breath, forcing himself to focus. Feeling sorry for himself or worrying about what might happen would get him anywhere. And it wouldn't get the kids anywhere. He needed to focus on solutions, things to do, a way out.

There were, in fact, too many things to do and not nearly enough ways to do them. In fact, he had virtually no way of doing them. He couldn't get the kids out, he didn't know how to destroy the jewel's powers, and he couldn't do anything to make Liam better.

All he could do was sit here and wait. And hope that Dean figured it out.

Dean!

His brother would be worried sick about him by now. It hurt to move, but there was nothing to be done for it. Trying to keep his injured side immobile, he retrieved his cell phone from his pocket. Even the small movement left him breathless and he struggled to keep his composure.

Clumsily, he hit the speed dial for Dean's number, trying not to notice the blood his hands smeared over it. Holding to his ear, he closed his eyes and waited for his brother to answer.

-o-

No matter how confident he sounded when he talked to Grace, Dean was losing his cool. He needed to be doing something—anything. And if he couldn't go in, he'd have to focus on a way to get Sam out.

And that meant research. He'd promised Sam. Sam needed him. He had to follow through.

Dean had developed a tentative balance between his phone and Sam's laptop, alternating glances between the two while occasionally letting his gaze sweep over the scene in front of him.

Sam had been so sure, so confident, so plaintive about moving the kids, but it just plain freaked Dean out. And Sam hadn't called. It had been nearly thirty minutes and Sam hadn't called.

How long could it possibly take for a kid to go to the bathroom?

He kept his face neutral, though, smiling at Grace when he needed to. And he kept his research up--those were necessities. He needed to own up to his duties while on the outside; he owed Sam that much.

Despite the lack of communication from his brother, he was persisting in the research, for what it was worth. At this point, he wasn't sure what he wanted more: a break in the research or to hear from Sam.

Just then, his phone rang. Looked like he'd be getting the latter before the former.

Uncontrollably, his heart skipped a beat as he answered. "Sam?"

There was a heavy breath. "Hey."

It was so _good _to hear Sam's voice, but it was off. It was tight and pained and clipped. Something was wrong. "What happened?"

"Well, we finally made it to the bathroom," Sam joked, though the humor didn't really work.

"What took you so long?"

"We ran into a few problems." Sam almost sounded guilty to admit it, and more than a little reluctant.

Dean leaned forward, nervous for the news. "A few problems?"

Sam was weighing his words. "Just a small problem," Sam said. "It's getting more powerful."

Dean's stomach tightened uncertainly. Things were bad enough; he didn't _want_ to know how they'd gotten worse. "More powerful how?"

At that, Sam actually laughed, which did nothing to alleviate Dean's growing dread. "The thing has exhibits coming to life now," he said. "I'm pretty sure it's what locked us in. I don't think it was very happy when we tried to take its next meal from it."

That bit of news made Dean pause. "The exhibits did _what_?"

This time, Sam sighed, and Dean felt all attempts at humor fade. "It can bring them to life. Manipulate them to move like real people. There were Indians shooting arrows, Eskimos with spears--"

"Like coming to life coming to life? It can do that?"

"Apparently," Sam replied, and he sounded tired, far too tired.

Dean's mind ceased trying to understand how an entity could bring inanimate objects to life and focused on the fact that his brother wasn't telling him everything. And if Sam was so readily offering such bizarre and disturbing information, he wasn't sure he really wanted to know what Sam _wasn't_ telling him.

But he had to know. His Sammy-sense was spiking in all kinds of terrible directions, and he had a sinking feeling that already knew what Sam was keeping from him. "Everything else okay?" Dean prodded.

"The kids are scared--"

"No, dude, I mean you," Dean said brusquely. "You don't sound so good."

In fact, Sam sounded terrible. He knew his brother better than he knew anyone. He'd heard Sam's first word, his first sentence, his first cry, his first yell, his first fight--everything. He knew that voice. He knew when it was happy (and how long it'd been), he knew when it was sad (and it almost always was). And he knew when it was hurt.

There was a strain in it and a weariness not borne of the situation. Sam was hiding something from him. And the only thing Sam would hide at a time like this was his own well-being.

"Dean--"

"Sam, tell me the truth," Dean said. "How are you?"

There was only a moment's pause. "Concussion," he said finally, his voice nearly inaudible tones. "I don't think it's too bad. Didn't lose consciousness."

Dean waited for the other shoe to drop. A mild concussion wouldn't be enough to make his brother sound like that. "And?"

Sam's sigh was one of resignation. "Things were flying everywhere. I took a...a spear in the side. I had to take it out to keep moving. I've got pressure on it, though, and I think it's slowing."

Dean's heart sank. His Sammy-sense had been more accurate than he had feared. "How bad is it really?"

"It's not great," Sam admitted, a bit regretfully, a tad sheepishly. "But I can handle it. I'm managing it. We just need to focus on getting the kids out of here."

"No, you just focus on staying alive and keeping the kids safe, okay?" Dean said. "I'll do the research, figure out what's going on. Then we can find a way to get rid of it."

"But--" Dean could practically see Sam's puppy dog eyes and he closed his own eyes away from them.

"Dude," Dean cut him off, using his authoritarian, parental voice. "I know how to research too. Don't worry."

"I have the sites about where it was found linked on the laptop. I hadn't gotten much into the local legends."

"I can handle it. Besides, I already found those, and then some. It shouldn't take me much longer," Dean assured him. Then he softened his voice. "Just take care of yourself, okay?"

"Yeah," Sam said, with a light laugh. "Call me when you have something."

"Sure thing," Dean said.

There was a pause, both brothers lingering on the line, neither wanting to disconnect. Finally, Dean heard the call end and his stomach flipped uncertainly.

Closing his phone, he took a calming breath. This was up to him. He was used to the pressure, but not on this end. He could stand off with any supernatural entity without flinching. But being on the outside? Being the one responsible for figuring it all out while his brother's life hung in the balance?

It made him nauseous.

He shook the feeling away. He didn't have time for this. He had a jewel to research and a brother to save.

-o-

The sound of the call ending was harder to handle than Sam anticipated. He wanted his brother there more than he could explain. Because, as much as he hated to admitted, he really needed Dean right now. He needed Dean's cocky smile, Dean's smooth habit of taking care of things.

He simply needed Dean's reassurance, because things felt pretty bleak at the moment.

He was holed up in a bathroom, bleeding and hurt, with five little kids. The only way out was past a homicidal spirit and he wasn't sure he even had the strength to stand without passing out, much less defeat whatever it was that was keeping them in here.

Bleak didn't begin to cover it. This was bad, even for a Winchester.

But, he _was _a Winchester. And Winchesters didn't sit around feeling sorry for themselves; they didn't sit around doing _nothing_.

No, he had to take action. Get things together. Be ready for when Dean came through with a plan to get him out of here. The first step: checking on the kids. Starting with Liam.

The bathroom was small. Between his own long legs and Liam's still form, most of the available floor space was used up. The other kids were flattened against the walls, shell-shocked and weary. The others except Daniel, that is. The older brother was hunched over his brother, and Sam could see the fear in his young features. Fear for Liam.

Carefully, he pulled himself forward, holding his side tighter as pain ricocheted through his body. His head spun a little and for a brief second he thought he was going to pass out, but he managed to steady himself, swallowing tentatively as he scooted toward Liam.

On his knees next to the boy, he assessed him. His skin was pale, probably paler than before, but it was hard to tell. He lifted the boy's eyelids, wishing he had some way to check for response. Instead he took his knuckles, rubbing them against the boy's sternum.

There was no response.

Sighing, Sam going somewhat limp against the wall. There was nothing he could do, and he had no way of knowing just how serious Liam's condition was.

"Can you help him?" Daniel asked, and Sam remembered the little boy by his side.

Swallowing, he braced himself. "I'll do everything I can."

Daniel's eyes went wide. "He's not okay, is he? He's not going to be okay, is he?"

The boy was panicking and he pulled away, turning protectively to the wall.

Sam's heart broke. "Daniel, he's going to be okay," he promised.

The boy kept his eyes downward, refusing to turn back around.

"Daniel," Sam called again, moving to look the child in the face. "Hey, we're going to take care of him. My brother—he's outside and he's working on a way to get us out. Okay? All we have to do is stay here and it'll all work out."

Daniel still refused to look at him, and from his tense posture, Sam could tell the boy was on the verge of tears.

"Daniel? Say something, kiddo," he encouraged, putting a hand gently on his back.

It was the contact that Daniel responded to, turning toward Sam with tear-filled eyes. "He's my brother!" he said.

Sam's heart fluttered. "I know," he said softly, patting Daniel shoulder. "I know."

"I'm supposed to take care of him! Mommy said!"

"This wasn't your fault," Sam explained. "This is…this is something no one can protect against, okay? It's not your fault. Do you understand?"

Daniel looked hesitant but finally nodded, wiping viciously at his tears.

"Good, now can I trust you to sit with Liam? To make sure he's okay?"

That was a charge Daniel could take and this time when he nodded there was no hesitation.

This time Sam's smile was true and relieved. He clapped the boy lightly on the shoulder.

One down…four to go. Well, three to go. He couldn't comfort Liam, couldn't do much for Liam at all except get him out of there.

He let his eyes roam each of the kids. Daniel had resumed his post by Liam's side, offering comfort that Sam was pretty sure the younger brother couldn't appreciate. Jaclyn was watching Daniel with Liam with wide, scared eyes. Lara seemed withdrawn, her delicate features pale. Even Jeremy looked subdued, morosely leaning his head against the wall.

Holding his side, he went to Lara, crouching next to her, reaching out and putting a gentle hand on her arm.

When she looked at him, Sam could see that she'd been crying. Her blue eyes were red rimmed and still full, her eyelashes clumped together.

"You okay?" he asked.

She sniffled, loudly. "Is Liam going to be okay?"

Sam glanced over at the boy, making eye contact with a far too on-edge Daniel. He looked back at Lara. "Yeah," he said. "I'm sure Liam will be fine."

"I don't understand...what's out there," Lara said miserably. "My mom said things like that aren't real, but they were after us. How is that even possible?"

Sam smiled sadly, wishing he had enough lies to hide the reality of the situation. The kids had been too shocked before, too busy surviving to process what they'd seen.

Seeing was easy. Understanding it was something entirely different. Sam was used to saving people. Helping them deal with the aftermath was something he dreaded. Especially with children. Because he knew what that felt like. He knew what it felt like to have everything safe feel like a lie, what it felt like to not trust anything anymore. He didn't wish that on anyone.

But he couldn't lie to them.

He settled next to her, draping an arm carefully across her small shoulders. "Sometimes things that you hear about in stories--scary things, bad things--sometimes they're real."

Lara looked up at him, eyes wide and pleading. "I don't understand."

He sighed. He was being too vague. "There's something trapped in the museum," he explained. "Trapped inside one of the jewels. And it attacks people because it's trying to get out."

"That's crap," Jeremy said from across the room. "There's no such thing as ghosts and stuff."

"I wish that were true," Sam said softly, realizing he was addressing the whole group. "But it's not always true. Sometimes there are spirits, monsters, bad things."

He was suddenly aware of the fact that Lara was shaking and Jaclyn was inching closer to him. "They can hurt us?" Jaclyn asked. "Like La Llorona that my grandma talks about?"

"Yeah," Sam said. "Stories like that, most of them are based on real events, real people, real ghosts."

In many ways, it was easier with children. The world had not yet completely jaded them, their so-called common sense was not nearly as refined as adults. They were much more prone to believe what they saw, what they felt, unlike adults who had a habit of rationalizing too much. Yet, looking at their faces, believing with a hint of terror, he couldn't help but feel guilty at how easy it was to deconstruct their sense of safety.

"But...how do we get away from them?" Jaclyn asked.

"Well, that's what my brother is trying to figure out," Sam said.

Lara snuggled closer, resting her head against him. "And you'll protect us?"

Sam patted her gently, letting his eyes peruse each child, lingering on Liam. "I'll do the best I can."


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: Thanks to everyone who is sticking with this. I hope the balance between the boys works out okay--I worked hard on it, and I'm not sure it worked out. I know I'm partial, so I'm not always the best judge :) And I do dearly love the limp, and I'm pretty sure it's showing by now. There's some hunt development in this chapter, which is never my strength, so here's to hoping it doesn't sound like the load of crap that I'm pretty sure it is! All other notes in disclaimers in chapter one.

* * *

**Chapter Seven**

Sam's research had been good, but Dean quickly found that it was not enough. They'd been so eager to start the job, that they'd both neglected to finish the research. Besides, Dean reminded himself wryly, they were supposed to still be in the research phase, not smack in the middle of the hunt.

He needed more sources. The Internet was good, but it wasn't quite enough. He'd even hacked into a university's website and gotten on EBSCO and searched academic journals. There were hits, but not enough.

The area of China had some interesting history, but nothing was jumping out at him. The jewels were from an age of magic and sorcery, which Dean figured made sense, but there were no other specific details. More annoyingly, some of the jewels came from different locations with different histories. Some were said to be remnants of a royal line. Others were amassed by personal collectors.

He couldn't find anything about one being involved in a violent death. Not that there were many death certificates from centuries earlier.

He muttered a string of curses. He needed something more concrete, something that gave him more insight. At this point, he wasn't even sure what he was looking for. A spirit seemed to be the most likely culprit—if it was cursed, then it probably wouldn't keep attacking. It would be more clear-cut.

Which, this case had been, at least until they'd gotten there.

Whatever they'd done, they'd managed to make it mad, Dean was sure of that much. A curse didn't respond in anger. So again, that brought him back to a spirit—something tied to the object in there.

Maybe one of them was possessed?

It could be demonic, he supposed, or some kind of captured evil entity condemned to some object as punishment. Now it was trying to earn its way back out through the life force of children.

They'd heard of crazier things.

He chewed his lower lip. It was a workable theory, but that still left the problem of figuring out what was possessed and in what aspect of the display. Clicking, he made his way back to the first page Sam had book-marked, which provided a detailed list of the jewels on display, hoping something would stand out to him this time around.

-o-

Sam sat next to Lara, quietly, until he felt her calm next to him. Her shivering stopped and Sam thought she could have been asleep, were the situation more conducive toward it.

He let his eyes linger on Jeremy. Of all the kids, he seemed the least afraid. As it was, he seemed fairly lost in thought, a blank expression on his face as he let his eyes peruse the walls.

"You okay, Jeremy?" he asked, mostly just wanting to gauge the kid's state of mind.

Jeremy looked at him and nodded. "It's not like I'm great or anything, but I'll manage," he said and the boy's eyes flicked around at his classmates.

Sam nodded back. "You sure?"

"You don't need to worry about me," Jeremy replied. It could have been taken as a cocky statement, even a naive one, but Sam recognized it as the self-sacrifice that it was. He could see it in Jeremy's eyes--the boy knew that things were bad. He knew that Sam was hurt, that Liam was hurt, and that the other kids were scared. He didn't want to add to the problems by pitching in with his own fears.

Sam managed a smile, nodding gratefully. That just left Jaclyn.

The Hispanic girl had retreated mostly within herself, her legs folded to her chest. She rocked a little, blinking slowly. She would need more attention than Jeremy.

Haltingly, he pushed himself to stand, trying to minimize his struggles. He finally had Lara calmed, and he was pretty sure that flailing all over the place would only reignite her concern.

Making it to his feet was no easy task, but he found himself standing. With a deep breath, he began to traverse the short distance to Jaclyn's side.

When he got to Jaclyn, he tried to ease himself down beside her, but found it difficult. He flopped hard to the ground, trying not to wince and attract her attention.

He didn't have much luck with the task.

When he managed to get his breathing under control, he found her looking at him. "You're still bleeding," she said.

He smiled, but he was pretty sure it looked like a grimace. "I'm okay," he said, letting his head rest against the wall.

She didn't seem to believe him, but she didn't say anything for a moment. "Are you scared?"

Sam managed a smile at this one. "A little," he admitted. "But let me tell you something."

The hope in her eyes made him hesitate, made him ache.

He refused to let his fear show. "I have a brother out there--Dean."

"The guy you were with?"

"Yeah," Sam said. "And I know he's doing everything he can to figure out a way to get us out of here."

"What if he can't find a way?"

It was an innocent question, a worthwhile question, one Sam may have asked himself if he'd been alone. But he swallowed. "He will," he told her, holding her gaze.

Her forehead crinkled and she cocked her head. "How can you be sure?"

"He's my brother," Sam replied simply. "It's kind of what he does."

She studied him a moment longer, before smiling. "I don't have a brother," she said. "I always wanted one though. My little sister doesn't like me very much."

It was Sam's turn to chuckle, a breathless, painful movement. He cut it off with the sting of tears in his eyes. "Well, they're not always perfect," Sam said. "But they come through when it counts."

Jaclyn's smile was content and peaceful and she scooted closer to Sam, tentatively letting her head rest on his arm.

Sam tensed instinctively; she was so small, seemed so delicate. But she relaxed further and Sam felt her warmth flare through him, covering the coldness of his injuries.

He let his head fall back against the wall, closing his eyes. He let his mind drift, let himself believe that when he opened his eyes that everything would somehow be better.

-o-

Dean remembered why he hated research. There were too many dead ends. Too many places where the information just dried up. Too many periods of sitting and thinking.

The last thing Dean wanted to do was to sit and think.

He sighed, looking around. The scene was much the same. The guards were still meandering back and forth, somewhere between tense and bored. Some of the employees had even gone home, but the curator was still sitting on a bench near the entrance.

A light bulb went off in Dean's head.

The curator. If anyone would know about the history of the pieces in the museum, the curator would. He would know history, stories, theories, myth.

Dean snapped the laptop shut, not hesitating as he stood and walked over.

Dr. Huber was positively a wreck, gnawing distractedly on a fingernail while he oversaw the ineffectual actions of his employees. He alternated between pacing and standing still, a dilemma which Dean understood well.

He edged toward him carefully, not wanting to spook him. The man seemed distant and security had discouraged all other attempts at people talking to them whatsoever. Dean knew his only in was the fact that he'd been in the museum when it happened.

When he got close enough, the curator looked at him blandly. "Sir, we're going to have to ask you to keep your distance," he said. "Just for the time being."

"Oh, I know," Dean replied easily. "I was inside when it happened."

The man seemed to look at him more carefully. "Yes, yes you were," he said, straightening a little. "You're doing all right, aren't you?"

"Yeah, yeah," Dean said quickly. "Never better."

"Good," Dr. Huber said.

"Though I was wondering," Dean interrupted before the man could move away. "I didn't get a chance to read up on all the exhibits before we had to leave."

"We can reimburse you," Dr. Huber said quickly. "Give you a ticket for another day."

Dean forced himself to brighten. "That'd be wonderful," he lied. "I was especially interested in the Jewels of the East exhibit."

At this, Dr. Huber looked up, his face somewhat surprised. "Really?" he asked. "What about it?"

Dean held in his grin. This was going to be too easy. "They're amazing pieces," Dean started.

The smile Dr. Huber gave was reserved and timid. "They are," he agreed. "Some of the finest finds in recent archaeological history."

"I was wondering though, about the history of some of them," Dean ventured. "Pieces like that--of that quality--there has to be some real interesting background on them."

Dr. Huber's eyes were positively shining now. "Well, yes, as a matter of fact," he said. "They do have a fascinating history."

"Really?" Dean asked, feigning surprise. "You think you could tell me about them?"

-o-

Twenty minutes later, Dean had all the information he needed--and then some. Once the man had gotten started, Dean's problem had been to keep him focused. Undoubtedly, the curator could have rambled all day.

But Dean had the information he needed, and now he needed to relay it back to Sam. Ducking away, he pulled himself to the side of the pavilion under the shade of a hedge.

His fingers were trembling with relief and anticipation as he dialed Sam's number. It rang...once...twice...and Dean's heart began to sink.

Sam would be waiting for the call. Sam should answer right away, unless...

It rang three times, four.

On the fifth ring, it connected.

"'lo?" Sam's voice was bleary and tired.

"Sammy?"

"Yeah," came the breathless reply.

"Sammy, you okay?"

"Yeah," Sam said, quickly, and his voice was shaky.

"You still bleeding?"

"I'm fine, Dean." Sam's voice seemed to grow stronger, clearer, though it was clipped. "What'd you find?"

Dean sighed, wishing again that he could be there with his brother. He knew the kid was lying to him, couldn't even blame him for it, but not knowing was driving him crazy. "Well, I think the jewel's possessed."

"Possessed? By a demon?"

"No, a spirit," Dean said, looking at the laptop again. "It seems that centuries ago in ancient China there was this mystic, a very powerful one at that. She was vain though, and selfish. Not the type who used her powers for good altruistic purposes, if you know what I'm saying. Well, apparently she had this thing for jewels--exotic and big ones. She'd kill for them--literally. She crossed one person too many though and legend says she was cursed to be trapped inside the thing."

"So it's a spirit?" Sam repeated, and Dean's concerned spiked. Sam was acting more than a little sluggish on the brainstorming, not making the connections like he usually would. This did not bode well for Sam's state of mind, and he needed his brother completely alert to make it out of there alive.

"A powerful one at that," Dean said. "I figure she was trapped in there and then they buried the jewel--got it as far away from people as possible to make sure she couldn't do any harm. But when the excavations started happening and they stumbled across it--she had access to people again."

"And with people, came power," Sam said, finally following the train of thought. "So what's with the draining of life forces?"

"Well, maybe she's trying to use their life forces to regain her own. Maybe if she has enough power she can get out of the thing."

Sam paused, seemed to be considering it. "Seems to fit with the pattern. The attacks are getting closer and closer together."

"And it shows why she's able to do so much harm now. She must be getting pretty close to having enough power to come back if she can throw things around."

"So pretty much they've unleashed a psychotic spirit hell-bent on destruction and death?"

The resignation in Sam's voice was palpable, Dean would have given anything to be there to joke it away. He'd still try, but the strain of separation weighed heavily on their call. "Seems that way. I can only imagine the grudge she has after being cooped up in a jewel for centuries."

Sam sighed. "So how do we get rid of her?"

The question made Dean wince. Sam sounded hopeful, a bit desperate, and Dean had no answers. "I'm still working on that part."

"How long do you think?" Sam's question was innocent and quiet, but Dean sensed the desperation behind it.

"How are you doing?" Dean asked, changing the subject.

"Never better," Sam quipped. "It's Liam, though. He's getting worse."

"You don't exactly sound up to par yourself there, little brother."

At that, Sam laughed, short and dry. "I'm not exactly ready to run a marathon or anything, but I'm okay."

"Has the bleeding stopped?" Dean persisted.

"Dean--" The exasperation in Sam's voice was clear.

"Sam, has the bleeding stopped?" Dean asked again, leaving no room for argument.

"Almost," Sam admitted. "It's slowed a lot."

"But you're still losing it?" Dean wanted nothing more than to assess his brother himself, to apply his own pressure bandages, or, better yet, bundle Sam up and get him to the hospital as fast as he could.

That wasn't an option.

He could almost see Sam hanging his head. "Yeah."

There were no words. There was nothing to say. Dean's knees felt weak and he swallowed hard. Sam was in trouble. The blood loss had to be affecting his kid brother a lot by now. He couldn't hold out much longer—not without help.

They were running out of time.

And Dean didn't know quite what do to.

-o-

Sam was a good liar, smooth and resolute in his attempts, so earnest that everyone believed him. It was just a matter of making the decision to lie, which he didn't like to do, and when he didn't, he was as transparent as glass.

But when he put his mind to it, when he was decided that lying was his best recourse, not even Dean could tell.

Usually, anyway.

He wanted to lie to his brother now. He didn't want Dean to worry. Dean had enough on his plate with all the research and the burden of figuring a way to get Sam out—Sam didn't want to freak him out by telling him just how hazy things were.

The problem was that things really were hazy. In fact, he was having trouble staying focused at all, and his body was betraying him.

"Dean, I'm...," Sam tried to explain, tried to assure his brother. But his voice was giving out, his awareness fleeting. He just had to stay awake, just to tell Dean, just for the kids.

"Sam? Sammy?"

Dean was calling his name, more frantically Sam could tell, but nothing could keep him there long enough to reply.

-o-

Dean's grip on the phone was nearly crushing, his knuckles white and his stance desperate. He had given up discretion and was yelling in earnest over the cell phone.

Nothingness garbled back at him. The line was still intact—it wasn't static—but there was no voice, no Sam, and Dean felt his control slipping. Sam was hurt—worse than he let on. And Dean was not with him, not there to help him, not there to make it okay.

He needed to get in there--now. He needed to be with Sam, see just how bad off Sam was. But, even if he could get in and trust Grace alone on the outside, the inner-workings of the museum were locked. He'd have no way to get to where Sam was.

Then he heard voices—

"Sam?" he asked, hopeful.

But the voices were distance and small. He listened.

"...Maybe we should," someone was saying.

"You can't just take someone's cell phone!" another answered back. "That's stealing!"

"But what if it's someone important and he doesn't wake up? What if he needs to wake up? I don't know what else to do."

It was the kids. The kids were trying to figure out what to do. "Hey!" he yelled, louder now, hoping to get their attention. "Pick up!"

Whether they heard him or had merely made up their minds, a second later a tentative voice crackled over the line. "Hello?"

"Who is this?" Dean demanded, forgetting that he was dealing with children.

"Jaclyn." Her shaking, timid voice made him bite his tongue.

Dean ducked farther away from the center of activity. A pair of policemen was now patrolling the front, the area roped off. Grace was playing another game with the children, though Dean could see her nervous glances back at him. He needed to focus, and he certainly didn't need any prying eyes or ears. "Jaclyn, my name's Dean."

"Sam's brother?"

"Yeah," Dean said. "Can you put Sam back on the phone?"

Her breathing faltered a little. "Sam won't wake up," she said.

Dean forced himself to stay calm, to take easy, even breaths. "It's okay, alright?" he said.

"Why won't he wake up?" She sounded suspiciously near tears.

"Just relax," Dean said, his voice remarkable soothing. He needed to keep it together, he needed this kid to keep it together. It was his only hope—Sam's only hope. "Is everyone else okay?"

"Everyone except Sam and Liam," she said, her voice slower now, a bit steadier.

"But they're both breathing, right?"

"Daniel's watching Liam. He hasn't woken up, but Sam said he'd be okay."

"Good," Dean encouraged, thankful for that much. "Now, Jaclyn, I need you to help me out, okay? Can you help me?"

"I think so."

He nodded to no one. "I need you to look at Sam," he said. "Can you do that for me?"

"I...yeah...I can see him," the girl replied.

Turning back toward the building, Dean looked at it, wishing for some way in, some way to help his brother. "What's wrong with him? Can you see where he's hurt?"

"His head—it's bleeding. And he was holding his side earlier. There's...blood."

Dean's heart clenched, and he turned back toward the street again. "How much?"

"I...," her voice trailed off. "I don't know. There's some...on the floor. And on his hand. He used a shirt to try to stop it, but I can't...I can't tell."

"You're sure he's breathing?" he asked again, knowing it was redundant but not caring. This was a kid, an eight year old, and he hardly trusted trained medical professionals with his kid brother, much less scared little girls who hadn't even gotten past the second grade.

There was a pause. "His chest is moving up and down and stuff but I don't know."

"Can you wake him up?"

"We've tried," the little girl explained, her voice shaky. "We called him and stuff. But he won't wake up. Is he okay?"

"Jaclyn, sweetie, I need you to try to wake him up, okay?" he said, trying to keep his voice even and calm. "I want you to go to the side that's not hurt and I want you to shake him for me. Okay?"

"Okay...," she said, sounding uncertain. There was the sound of movement. "What if I hurt him?"

It was so innocent he might have laughed. To think of this small child harming his 6'4'' Sasquatch of a little brother... "Just don't touch him where he's hurt and he'll be fine," he said, hoping that much was true. Without seeing Sam, he had no way of gauging Sam's injuries, and there was no way to expect a child to be able to assess what was wrong with his brother. "You're not going to hurt him, I promise."

There was a pause then he heard a rustling. "Sam? Sam," the girl's voice called. "Sam, your brother wants to talk to you."

The girl was good, Dean had to give her that. If anything would wake Sam up, that would probably do it. Dean held his breathe, waiting.

"Sam!" her voice called again.

"What if he dies?" another voice said, more shrill. "What if he's already dead and we're going to die too?"

"He's not dead!" Jaclyn said, but Dean noted that she didn't sound very sure of herself. Whatever shape Sam was in, it wasn't good.

"You don't know that!" the other girl accused.

"Dude, his chest is moving," a boy's voice said reasonably. "So I think he's alive."

Dean felt himself relax a little. If the kids could tell Sam was alive, then his breathing couldn't be too impeded. He let himself sit on a bench, perched on the edge, listening, waiting.

"Hello?" Jaclyn said into the phone again, snapping Dean to attention.

He shot to his feet. "Yeah," he said quickly, anxiously.

"He won't wake up."

"It's okay," Dean said gently. "But I need you to try again."

"We've tried--" Jaclyn said.

Dean shook his head. "This is important. I need you to get some water from the sink."

"What for?" The suspicion in her voice was apparent and Dean almost cringed.

"You're going to take some water—some cold water—and you're going to splash it on Sam's face."

"But--"

"Just do it," he said, more harshly than she intended.

"Okay." Her voice was meek, small.

He heard movement, then the sound of running water.

"What are you doing?" another girl's voice asked.

"I just—he said—I don't know," Jaclyn replied and Dean winced at the tremor in her young voice.

There was more movement and Dean found himself pacing. This had to work. He had to talk to Sam. If Sam was out cold then he had no recourse. He had nothing he could do. He needed Sam to get rid of this thing. He needed Sam to get himself out.

Mostly he just needed Sam to be okay, because he didn't know what to do if Sam wasn't.


	8. Chapter 8

A/N: We're in the home stretch here--so I hope the action doesn't disappoint. I've been trying to keep up with review replies, but if I somehow forgot you, please, don't take it personally! I will try to catch up with the rest tonight. I totally appreciate the support on this one--it makes all the stress and time on this story SO worthwhile. Still thanks to Tyruanusfan and sendintheclowns for their continued support. All other notes and disclaimers in chapter one.

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**Chapter Eight**

He was cold.

Cold and...wet?

The thought came to him slowly, settling on him heavily as he tried to figure out what the distant sensations meant.

But they weren't distant--not really. The chill was suddenly pervasive and encompassing, and he shivered.

He needed to do something. Because it was too cold, it was uncomfortable, and if he could just move...

Why couldn't he move?

The disturbing nature of that thought shook him more and he blinked, startling awake in desperation.

Bright lights assaulted his vision, acute and unforgiving, and he shied away from it, his head throbbing and his stomach turning.

Maybe it wasn't so much that he couldn't move, but that he didn't want to. His body seemed to be loosing energy fast, it leaked out of him like he was a sieve, and the darkness beckoned him.

For a second, he was tempted to go back to it. It would have been easier that way. But there was something he was supposed to be doing, something important...

The museum.

The kids.

Dean.

It was enough to open his eyes again, and this time he squinted, trying to keep them from snapping shut in discomfort. Things were blurry, oddly shaped masses that he couldn't focus on.

He blinked again, letting the nausea abate.

The world settled—and he was surrounded by pale blue tile, a toilet, the sink...kids.

They were bunched, group in front of him, looking at him in fear.

Jaclyn was holding something out to him, something familiar...his phone.

"Your brother wants to talk to you," she said.

He stared at her for a second, mouth hanging open, trying to make sense of what she said.

"Sam?" she asked, her eyes glinting with desperation now.

"Yeah," he finally managed to say. Reaching his hand out to take the phone was harder than it should have been and his entire body screamed in protest. He tried to prop himself up, to meet the girl half way, but settled for holding out his hand.

Tentatively, she leaned down, placing the phone in his hand.

The very task of putting it to his ear made him want to cry and he felt himself drifting to sleep again. "Dean?"

"Sam? That you?"

"Dean," he said again, blinking slowly. He wished he had some way to get away from the children's prying eyes, but there was no place to hide and he lacked all strength anyway.

"You scared the crap out of me," Dean said, and Sam could hear the fear laden in his voice. "Next time you don't want to talk to me there's no need to freak out the kids."

Sam's voice was reluctant to work. "Sorry," he managed, grimacing at the slur he couldn't control.

"How bad are you really?" Dean asked. "Don't think about lying to me this time."

"Blood loss, mostly," Sam finally admitted. "The concussion's got me seeing things a little funny."

"You going to be able to do this?" Dean couldn't hide the hesitation in his voice.

Sam didn't know. He needed to stop the bleeding, but he could barely move. And if he didn't, he'd bleed out and condemn the kids to death. "There's not much choice. We can't get out until we get rid of it."

"Sam—"

"You know I'm right."

It hurt to say, and he knew it hurt Dean to admit it. The struggle in his brother's head was palpable in the silence. "I'm going to do some research, figure this thing out," Dean said finally, his voice gritty. "I want you to rest up in the meantime. Take care of the wound. Keep the pressure on it. I'm going to need you alert and ready when I figure this thing out."

Sam nodded wearily, not having the energy to reply verbally.

"Sammy?" Dean's voice begged confirmation.

"Just…hurry," Sam said. He liked being independent, and sometimes relished being able to do things without his brother's help. But Sam was not so proud as to not ask for help when he needed it. Especially on a hunt.

And he needed it, now. Badly.

He could almost hear Dean grin, a reassuring, cocky grin. "I'm not exactly the geek here, but I'll do my best."

With that, Dean ended the call, and Sam couldn't help but smile.

The kids were watching him out of the corners of their eyes, casting nervous glances at one another as they cowered together along the walls. Whatever adrenaline any of them had mustered was fleeting fast, almost as fast as Sam's own energy.

But Dean was working on it. Dean would find the way out. Sam just needed to stay awake until then.

-o-

Tremors tore through Dean's body with such ferocity that he could barely move the cursor correctly. He missed another link he tried to click on, cursing at how slow and inefficient he was being.

Dad's journal lay open next to him, the pages flapping in the wind.

He needed an exorcism, a banishment rite—something, anything, and his brain was working so fast that he could barely think at all.

His searches yielded nothing. His dad had never encountered a spirit in quite this form. He had no idea what to look for.

Frustrated, he nearly threw the laptop across the pavilion. He probably would have if he didn't need it so badly.

Unless he was over thinking this.

Of course he was over thinking this. He wasn't going to find an exorcism for ancient spirits trapped in jewels. He just needed something to separate spirits from objects and something else to send spirits packing on their way.

That was pretty basic. They'd done that before.

Forcing himself to stay calm, he reached for his father's journal, flipping through it and pausing at the various rituals recorded there.

It amazed Dean how fast it came together after that. Bookmarking several passages, he picked up his phone to call Sam back.

He didn't give Sam a chance to say hello before he started talking. "I think I've got it. I think I know how to get rid of her."

"Good," Sam said, a little breathlessly, a little too tired. "So what is it?"

Sam's readiness to just listen was a bit disheartening. Sam should be speculating, helping more—he didn't mind doing all the work, but it wasn't a good sign as to Sam's physical condition.

Dean forced himself to ignore it--for now. He had to tell Sam how to get rid of the witch and then they could deal with everything else. "She's bound to the jewel, right? So if we destroy the jewel then she has no place left to go."

"If we destroy the jewel she'll be...free move around, thought...which would make it easier to claim victims." From Sam's halting speech, Dean could tell Sam was struggling just to speak.

"I'm already ahead of you," Dean said. "So we exorcise her. Pull her out of the jewel, smash the thing so she has no link left, then do a basic exorcism to get rid of her."

"How do we keep her...from running? She's not going to stay put."

That was a thought. Dean's mind worked. "Consecrate the room. Once she's no longer attached to the jewel, she'll have an ethereal form that is bound to the laws all spirits are bound by. She can't cross salt, holy water, iron. Mark the corners and it will keep her there long enough to get the job done."

"Do you have the exorcism?"

"Right here," Dean said. "Do you have something to write with?"

It took a moment, and Dean could hear some rustling, but a moment later Sam's voice came back over the line. "Go ahead."

Slowly, Dean delineated the Latin to him, making sure to double check it with Sam. He didn't doubt Sam's abilities, but his brother was weak and suffering from blood loss and a concussion. He didn't want to put Sam at more risk by having him attempt an incorrect rite.

"You've got salt to consecrate the room?" Dean asked.

"Just the emergency stash in my pocket."

"That won't be enough to cover the entire room--" Dean pointed out.

"We'll just get the doorway," Sam suggested. "So far it's been bound by walls."

"It'll do." It would have to.

There was a pause, and Dean could feel his brother struggling to process all the information, and Dean realized he was neglecting one key fact. But his brother beat him to voicing it. "I'm not sure I can move fast enough to do all that before she freaks."

Sam sounded guilty and ashamed, but honest nonetheless.

Dean just wished there was something he could do about it rather than just tell his brother to suck it up and deal with it. Then the solution came to him, though he was pretty sure he hated it and that Sam would resist it. "The kids," he said suddenly. "Have the kids help you."

"I can't put them at risk like that," Sam said immediately, his voice low and withdrawn, and Dean knew Sam was trying to be discreet.

"There's no choice, Sammy," Dean said. "Let them help consecrate the room, do the hard work so all you have to do is read. Then have them get out of there as fast as they can. Hopefully she'll be too preoccupied with you to focus on them."

The noise Sam made was meant to be laughter, Dean was pretty sure, but it didn't little make him feel better. "And what if I go down?" Sam asked.

The question made Dean cringe. Sam was a strong, capable man, but he was still his little brother, and Sam's insecurities were blaring at him now. Sam was hurt, he was weak, and he knew Sam wasn't afraid of failure for his own safety—but for the kids'.

"Dude, you can do this," Dean said, resolute and true. "I know you can."

And Dean believed it. He believed it because he believed in his brother. He believed it because there was simply no other choice.

"Okay," Sam replied, his voice sounding steadier, stronger. "I'll call you when I'm done."

Sam ended the call and Dean couldn't move, couldn't even take the phone from his ear as he tried to keep believing.

-o-

It took several deep breaths before the room stopped spinning and the pain abated enough to speak. It took a few more breaths before he felt like he could explain this to the kids without passing out.

"Are you guys ready to get out of here?"

They all looked at him, a bit surprised, but too shell-shocked to really show much expression.

"Do we get to go home now?" Lara asked.

Jaclyn's eyes were hopeful. "Is the bad thing outside gone?"

Sam took another breath, garnering his resolve. "Not yet," he said. "But we're going to get rid of it."

They all looked doubtful. "How?" Jeremy asked, a hint of distrust in his voice.

"I just talked to my brother. He has a plan."

"What kind of plan?" Jaclyn asked, almost reluctantly.

"To get rid of what's in the museum. There's a spirit trapped in a jewel."

"Like a ghost?" Jeremy asked. "I thought they just sort of floated around or something."

"Some do," Sam agreed. "This one, it's been tied to a jewel. And it's trying to get it, which is why it attacks people."

"Which is why it attacked Liam," Daniel concluded, looking stonily at Sam.

"Yeah," Sam said sympathetically. "So we have to get rid of it. I'm going to need your help, though."

They still looked scared, all sporting little wide-eyed rabbit looks, but beneath that, Sam could see hints of determination. They were ready to do this.

"Okay," he began. "The first thing we need to do is get the jewel out. It's the green one, in the center case."

"How are we going to get it out though?" Jaclyn asked. "The cases are thick."

"We could smash it," Jeremy said.

Sam had to grin. Dean would like this kid. "That's what we'll have to do. But you'll have to find something heavy enough to do the damage. It might not break on one hit."

"I hit a homerun last year in Little League," Jeremy said with a serious nod. "I could do that."

"Good," Sam said. "That's your job then. Find something heavy then go straight to the case and smash it."

"What do we do when we get it out?" Jaclyn asked.

"You smash the jewel too," Sam said. "Then you get out."

"Will it break? Or will it be too hard?" Jeremy asked, suddenly concerned.

"I think it should break. Enough force."

Jaclyn nodded. "It might take a few times."

"You'll need to work fast," Sam cautioned.

"What can I smash it with?"

Sam looked around at the barren bathroom. "There's bound to be debris lying around. Before we get to the room, pick something up--something hard and metal," Sam advised.

Jeremy nodded curtly.

"What about me?" Jaclyn asked. "How can I help?"

Sam fumbled in his pocket, extracting the emergency packets of salt he kept there. "I need you to pour a line of salt along the doorway. A thick line, as thick as you can."

Jaclyn's nose scrunched up. "Why?"

"Because we want to keep it in the room," Sam explained. "Ghosts can't cross lines of salt--it repels them." He turned to Jeremy. "When you leave, you need to step _over_ the line. Don't disturb it at all."

Jaclyn's eyes went wide. "So Grandma's right to throw salt over her shoulder?"

Sam might have laughed if he'd had the energy. "It's never a bad idea. Salt purifies things," Sam agreed.

"What should I do?" Lara chimed in.

"I need you to keep a watch out," Sam said. "Make sure nothing's coming down the hall. If it is, you need to warn Jaclyn and Jeremy and get them out of there."

Lara nodded, resolutely, though her face showed her concern. "What'll be happening while we're doing this?" Lara asked. "Why will she try to get out?"

"I've got to read something to make her go away," Sam said. "She's not going to like it."

"Will it be like before?" Lara asked, her voice quiet.

Sam's heart broke a little. "Maybe," he admitted. "Which is why we have to go fast. And why I want all of you to return to the bathroom as soon as your job's done. Daniel will be here with Liam."

"But what about you?" Jaclyn asked.

Sam attempted a smile. "Don't worry about me."

They all looked ready to protest.

Sam didn't let them. "If we all work fast, we can get this done, okay? Do you trust me?"

Looking from child to child, he met each of their eyes. Though they were scared and uncertain, Sam could see that without a shadow of a doubt, they did indeed trust him.

It made him ache inside--to know how much they had invested in him. He barely knew them and could barely stand up, yet they were willing to follow him anywhere, do anything, with hardly any information at all.

He garnered his strength. "Ready?"

Each child nodded, and Sam couldn't hold back a smile.

-o-

Opening the door to the bathroom made Sam more than a little nervous. He had no idea what he'd find on the other side--and, quite frankly, he wasn't sure he _wanted _to know. The bathroom had been his safe haven, the perfect place to hole up.

The only problem was they couldn't last in there forever. And there was no one to get them out except for Sam himself. Dean could do all the research, all the legwork, but it was Sam who had to lead the exorcism.

Which meant leaving the safety of the bathroom behind.

Taking the kids with him did nothing to assuage his anxieties. At least Liam and Daniel would be safe--and all he had to do was read quickly and hopefully Jeremy, Lara, and Jaclyn could be safe too.

But speed was not a virtue he possessed right now. The blood loss was seriously hampering his movements. Even the simple task of standing at the doorway was draining him.

"Are you sure you're okay?" Jaclyn asked him one more time as he prepped to leave.

"Of course," he said breathily. "Just a little longer and then we'll be out of here."

Jaclyn looked doubtful of this, but said nothing.

"You guys ready?"

Three nods answered him.

Taking a breath, he opened the door, bracing himself for what was to come.

What he was met with was silence.

Nothing stirred, not even remotely.

Poking his head out, he saw the hallway littered with pieces of exhibits. A pile of mannequins lay in a heap at the end of the hall, including the two arrow-happy Native Americans from earlier.

He stepped out, waiting for something to spring to life and attack him.

Nothing.

_Maybe she's too tired to attack anymore_, Sam thought hopefully. Either way, they needed to move.

Without speaking, he nodded to the kids who were still in the doorway. Tentatively, they each stepped out. Jeremy surveyed the scene, quickly eyeing a metal railroad tie...probably from the Westward Expansion exhibit. He bent down and picked it up, weighing it in his hands. Grinning, he held it up to Sam.

Sam nodded approvingly.

With that task taken care of, Sam began down the hall. The kids kept close, lurking in his shadow, prepared for something to come flying at them.

The trip was silent except for their shoes against the floor and the pounding of Sam's heart in his ears.

The tension ramped up a notch as they rounded the corner to the Jewels of the East exhibit. He could feel Jaclyn leaning into him, her fingers brushing the back of his jacket. Sam swallowed hard, steeling himself and clutching the paper in his shaking hand.

At the doorway, he looked back at them, giving them one last chance to back out.

All three stared back at him, solid and ready.

Sam cleared the corner first, standing in the middle of the room. He waited for Jeremy to take his place in front of the case and for the girls to flank the entryway.

His breath hitched and he gave each child a long look before giving the nod to Jaclyn.

She poured quickly, ripping the packets open with shaking hands.

Sam waited, tense. If she attacked now, Sam wasn't sure what he'd do. They just had to get the salt line up and then at least the kids would be safe--or _safer _anyway.

When Jaclyn was done, she looked up, hopeful and ready for approval. Sam smiled tightly.

His turn. He needed to start the exorcism before Jeremy broke the case--that way if the witch decided to attack, it would see him as the greater threat, giving Jeremy time to escape.

Sam began to read. A line in, he glanced up and nodded to the boy.

With a deep breath, the boy reared back and made a hearty swing at the case.

Reading the next line, he spared a glance at the girls, who hovered nervously in the doorway.

The casing cracked. Without hesitation, Jeremy swung again and again, and Sam could see the boy definitely was in little league. One the fifth blow, the thing broke open and Jeremy reached in and grabbed the jewel, depositing it on the floor.

The Latin rolled easily off his tongue, years of practice overriding his pain and fears.

He could hear pounding and he knew it was Jeremy, doing his best to destroy the jade.

A hissing began to rise in the room.

Sam doubled the pace. She was here.

The hissing rose and Sam felt the temperature shift and then grow intensely cold.

Jeremy ran by him in a blur, and Sam felt a wave of relief.

The relief was supplanted by the coldness, which was stealing his thought with every breath.

The coldness started at his feet, planting them to the ground, almost freezing them there. He stumbled over a word then forced them out at a faster pace. He was running out of time.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see all three kids at the entryway, ready to leave, waiting for him to join him. He could easily finish the exorcism from beyond the salt line.

But that would put the kids at risk. If she could bring the exhibits to life, they'd be vulnerable in the hallway. That wasn't a chance he could take. Not that it mattered. He was rapidly losing all ability to move.

At least the kids would be safe, he thought, pushing himself to read faster. His energy was waning though, too fast. His vision blurred and he dropped to his knees.

His tongue didn't want to work and the Latin grew clunky in his mouth.

As his vision faded completely, all he could think was that he had failed.


	9. Chapter 9

A/N: I can't believe we're in the second to last chapter! Thanks all for reading and reviewing and for just generally making me smile. Hurting the boys is more fun when you have an audience :) All notes and disclaimers in chapter one.

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**Chapter Nine**

Jaclyn wanted to be scared.

She wanted to curl up in a ball and cry until her dad came and got her and took her away from here and never made her come back. She wanted this to be a dream, a bad dream; she didn't want it to be real.

But it was real. She knew it was. She had tried to wake herself—her arm still had red marks from where she'd pinched herself.

Besides, even if this was a dream, she still had to help Sam.

The man had been reciting the words, some language she didn't know, and she'd made sure they'd all done their job. Jeremy and Lara were already down the hallway and Daniel was still with Liam in the bathroom. All they had to do was finish the chant, then it'd be over. Sam would finish it, and then they could go home, just like he said.

But Jaclyn wasn't sure this was part of the plan.

Sam was shivering. Standing in the middle of the room, shivering. His voice shook, like he was scared, and he looked scared. He looked tired and hurt.

Then he fell to his knees.

Jaclyn yelped. "Sam!"

His words seemed slower now, but she couldn't tell, not really, because she didn't know this language. It was like listening to her grandmother speak in lightning-fast Spanish—all gibberish with moments of familiar sounding words

"Sam!"

His eyes were wide now, she could see that even from where she stood. His jaw was opening slower now and his voice had stopped.

"Sam!"

Then he fell to the ground, face first, hard into the floor. And he didn't just lie there—not like before. This time he was shaking. Hard. Harder than she'd ever seen anyone shake.

It looked painful—and wrong. His head smacked against the floor, his long limbs flailing.

She was pretty sure he was dying. She'd never seen someone die before. Then again, she'd never been trapped in a museum that brought things to life, either.

She realized she was staring, that she wasn't doing anything, and her common sense returned to her. Sam needed to read the ritual. That's what he had said. And he hadn't finished and she knew with a growing feeling of despair that he wasn't going to finish it—not like he was.

"Jaclyn, what are you doing?" Jeremy's voice came at her from behind. "We have to leave, just like Sam told us to!"

He was right. And they were supposed to follow directions, they were supposed to listen, especially now…

But something was wrong. She had to help Sam. He'd saved their lives, and now it was her turn to save his.

"Jaclyn!"

She looked at Jeremy. He was standing around the corner, his head poking around.

"Come on!" he said. "Daniel will be waiting for us in the bathroom!"

"You go back," she called. "I need to help Sam."

Without anymore thought, she sprinted forward, her white tennis shoes skidding on the floor as she approached Sam's body. Up close, he looked even worse, and she wanted to be scared, but there wasn't time.

Careful to avoid his shaking limbs, she pulled at the paper clutched in his hand. His grip was firm, too firm, and his face looked funny.

It wasn't coming loose.

She felt herself panicking. Sam had said it would be okay, Sam had said they could do this. But they needed Sam to finish it, and Sam was on the floor.

Tears welled up in her eyes and she felt her resolve waning. She couldn't do this. She couldn't even get the paper from his hands. It would be screwed up. They wouldn't get rid of it—it was wrong—

Suddenly, amid the jerking, Sam's hand relinquished the paper. Surprised, she didn't have time to stop herself from falling backwards.

She hit the floor with a thud that made her body hurt.

But she had the paper. It was in her hands. Now she just had to read it.

She couldn't feel her fingers as they uncrinkled the paper. Her eyes struggled to focus on the writing, blinking away tears. Unconsciously, she stepped away from Sam, away from his thrashing, trying not to listen to the growing noise.

Berating herself, she remembered to breathe, and her vision cleared enough to see the letters. But they didn't make sense. None of them. They looked more foreign than the Spanish her grandmother was always trying to tell her she needed to learn to read.

Her heart leapt into her throat. She couldn't do this. She didn't know how to do this. Sam was hurt—dying maybe—and whatever was in the museum was getting stronger, more powerful. She could feel the energy growing in the room, surging through her, causing her skin to tingle.

Sam was counting on her. Liam was counting on her. Jeremy, Lara, and Daniel were counting on her now.

Jaclyn was a good reader, always had been, and phonics had been a breeze to her. _Just sound it out_, she reminded herself, and began reading, approximating where Sam had left off.

"Et Spiritus Sanctus habitet in eo."

Her voice tripped, stumbling over it, and suddenly the energy bolted, crackling and she jumped back involuntarily. Sam's body was shaking so hard that it barely hit the ground, and he was stiff and rigid with it.

"Per eumdem Christum Dominum nostrum--"

Sam went still suddenly and she felt something encircle her, nearly stealing her breath away. She had to read faster.

"Qui venturus est judicare vivos--"

She raced, barely breathing as her body went cold.

"--Et mortuous--"

She had to finish—now—or she never would.

The coldness had nearly enveloped her and her vision began to feel fuzzy.

"--Et saeculum per ignem!"

She pushed the last line out through numbing lips and felt herself shaking as she did so. She could no longer read, no longer see, couldn't really think, she just prayed that she'd been fast enough, that it'd worked, that this would all be over soon.

Things whited out, just for a second, before she found herself panting on the ground.

Alive. Breathing.

The cold was abating, quickly, and her senses were returning to her in full force.

Her vision cleared and she blinked away tears. She didn't know what had happened, what that really was, and she wished her mom was her, her dad, her sister--anyone.

Then she remembered Sam.

Sam was still sprawled out on the floor, unmoving.

He looked dead.

He looked worse than Ethan had, even worse than Liam. He looked nearly as pale as her grandfather had when she'd gone to his funeral.

But Sam couldn't be dead. Sam had promised her.

Getting to her knees, she crawled to him. "Sam?" she asked, almost afraid to know the answer. "Sam are you okay?"

The pool of blood next to him frightened her and she couldn't keep herself from crying. "Sam, you have to wake up!" she called. "It's gone now! We can go!"

He didn't stir.

Reaching down, she put her hand on his chest, relieved to feel it rising beneath her. He was breathing, like he'd been in the bathroom when his brother had asked.

He was alive. All she had to do was get him outside and everything would be okay, just like he promised. His brother was out there, and he would help them, just like Sam had.

With a shaky sigh, she stood, latching onto one of Sam's legs and began to pull.

-o-

Dean alternated between attacking a fingernail with his teeth and drumming his fingers against the laptop's closed surface. It should be over by now. Sam should have finished the ritual.

But Sam was hurt--it would take awhile, Dean reasoned. He needed to be patient. Sam would succeed. Sam had to succeed.

He stood and took to pacing.

Looking to the building, then around, he caught Grace's eye. She smiled wanly at him. Unnerved, Dean sat again.

The kids had taken to sitting, sprawled throughout the pavilion, talking and playing games quietly with one another. Grace too the opportunity to wander toward Dean.

She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "You okay? You look nervous."

Dean's eyes darted to her before returning to the building. "Yeah, I—"

His words were cut off by a muffled roar and something shook the entire area. Grace wavered on her feet, struggling to maintain her balance, and Dean threw a hand on the laptop to keep it from clattering to the ground.

The movement was over as fast as it began, leaving the crowd shell-shocked in its wake.

Belatedly, someone started crying and yelling picked up as the museum staff erupted into a frenzy.

It was over—it had to be over. Because security was buzzing again and he felt Grace tense next to him.

"What was that?" Grace asked, still shaky on her feet.

Dean perked up, stepping closer. He barely noticed Grace's presence next to him.

"Was that from inside the museum?" she asked, a little mortified at the possibility.

Dean didn't answer. He just kept his eyes trained on the door. Waiting.

"They're going in," Grace breathed.

She was right. The security team had the door open, two of them loitering just inside the lobby.

This was ridiculous. If the place was somehow not on lockdown anymore, he wasn't going to wait for some security crew to find his injured brother. He wasn't going to make his injured brother limp out alone—assuming Sam could even move at this point.

No. It was time to be the big brother. He was going to go in himself.

He'd gotten past tighter security before and there wasn't much higher motivation than finding his injured brother.

He just needed another distraction.

Usually he'd use Sam for that, but Sam wasn't here, which was his problem in the first place. When in doubt, however, improvise.

He eyed Grace with renewed interest. While she was no longer exactly date material, she could prove to be a useful distraction.

With a breath, he placed a hand on her arm. "I'm going in," he announced.

She looked at him, surprised. "But security--"

"They won't know what to look for," Dean cut her off. "I want to find Sam and the kids quickly--if anyone's hurt, they're going to need help right away."

"But--"

"Grace, please," he said. He didn't have the time for logic or intricate persuasion. "Let me find the kids and my brother."

She closed her mouth, pressing her lips into a narrow line. "What do you want me to do?"

-o-

Grace should have been an actress.

That as all Dean could think as he watched her throwing a hysterical fit in front of the guards. Her tears looked real and her voice was strained and high pitched.

"What do you mean, you don't know what's wrong?" she was yelling.

The guards were trying to comfort her and she flailed, eliciting the attention of Dr. Huber as well.

"I want to know, right now!" she yelled.

They were all so preoccupied with her, that no one saw Dean slip in the same side door Sam had entered. The doors all opened easily now, without any jimmying whatsoever. The spirit was definitely gone.

Once inside, the museum was silent, eerily so. There were distant echoes from the staff in the main lobby, probably looking over the computer and security systems before they ventured farther in. With a glance around to make sure his coast was clear, he began in.

He didn't need a map—not this time. It didn't matter that he had no idea where anything was, that the labyrinth of rooms and corridors had given him a headache only hours before. None of that mattered when he was after Sam.

It was his Sammy-sense—always would be—and it was growing cold in the pit of his stomach.

His heart was thumping so loud, his ears were ringing--he barely heard the voices.

Distant. Small. Panicked. Young.

The kids.

Where there were kids, there would be Sam.

Dean's course changed without conscious thought, moving skillfully toward the sounds.

As he neared, he could hear the voices more clearly. The fear in them was raw, true. "Help! Help us, please!"

He saw the kids first, three of them, pulling and straining, the two girls crying, snot all over the place.

"Please," the dark-haired one begged, and Dean recognized the voice. "He's heavy."

That's when his mind registered what they were pulling. Sprawled on the floor, unmoving and pale and bloody, was Sam. The two girls had a hold of his left leg while the boy had his right.

Dean's heart fluttered and his stomach clenched.

Numbly, he moved to the kids, nudging them out of the way as he fell to his knees next to his brother, hands hovering over his brother's bleeding body.

"He's going to be okay, right?" the boy asked.

"Can you help him?" the blonde asked.

Dean didn't know. Dean didn't know anything. He just knew Sam was bleeding, Sam was unconscious. How had Sam finished the job? "What happened? I thought he was awake."

"It got him," the dark-haired one—Jaclyn, he remembered—said. "He was reading and then...he just stopped and started shaking."

Dean's eyes flashed up to hers. "It attacked him? Did he get to finish?"

"I finished it," she said, her voice now shaking in earnest as tears piled up in her eyes. "I did it just like he did."

"_You_ finished it?" Dean repeated, incredulous.

"I had to," she said. "It was hurting him. I couldn't let it hurt him."

"He saved us," the blonde added.

"Is he okay?" the boy asked, and Dean's disbelief melted into fear once again.

Gently, he felt Sam's neck for a pulse, frowning a little at its inconsistency. He fingered the gash on his brother's head—noted with some satisfaction that it was superficial. He didn't have to lift Sam's shirt to know that the wound to the side was not.

And none of it mattered with the unknown variable of the spirit's attack. He had no idea how the other children were faring. It was possible that now that the spirit was gone, that the kids would have their health returned to them, like with the shtriga. But if they didn't...

Dean didn't want to consider that. He didn't want to think about the blood that sheeted the side of his brother's face, the way his brother's head rolled limply toward him, the way Sam's limbs lay loosely where they'd been flopped. He didn't want to think about Sam never waking up, about Sam falling victim to this, about Sam dying for these kids while Dean stood outside and did nothing.

He was shaking--no, he was being shook.

He blinked back to reality.

"You have to help him!" Jaclyn yelled, her small hands on him. "You _have_ to."

She was right. She was only eight years old and she knew more about his job at the moment than he did.

Without hesitating a moment more, he reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. It didn't matter if they found out he'd sneaked in. It didn't matter if the FBI found him. The only thing that mattered was getting Sam help, and he'd do that anyway he could.

-o-

He didn't leave his brother's side, not even in the ambulance, though the paramedics shot him nasty looks. Dr. Huber had been more than a little surprised to see him coming out of the museum at his brother's side, but when Grace enthusiastically greeted the children, he seemed to forget, too concerned about Sam's and Liam's condition and issues of liability and bad publicity to throw too much of a snit.

Dean had asked for two pairs of medics and had Jeremy show one set to Liam and Daniel. He knew he should check on the younger boy himself, that's what Sam would have wanted, but he couldn't bring himself to leave his brother's side. Jaclyn didn't budge either; the girl squatted on the other side of Sam, steady and terrified, and it took everything Grace had to keep her from climbing into the ambulance, leeched onto Dean's leg.

Sam was silent in the ambulance, and the medic was not overly informative. Dean was left to his worries and his doubts as he prayed to see some kind of response from Sam.

The waiting room was lonely, but they always were, and Dean found himself staring blankly at muted green walls, trying not to remember. By the time he'd gotten to the hospital, the day had waned, and now the early evening found Dean with nothing to do but think and wait. It seemed hard to believe that they'd only just arrived in Springfield that morning.

The entire case haunted him, the sound of Sam's pained voice of the phone, the way Sam had looked so lifeless when he'd finally found him.

But what he found himself thinking about more than anything else, were the kids.

The kids were what started this, what had made Sam go back in at all. Their goal had been to save them, but they saved people all the time.

Sam hadn't just saved these kids. He'd earned their trust, their faith. Sam had earned their love.

Not that it really surprised Dean. Sam had that effect on people, but this was different somehow. It was a part of his brother he'd never truly seen, never truly understood.

He'd seen the looks on their faces. He'd heard it in the tones of their voices. Sam had bonded with these kids.

Dean wasn't sure why, but there was something bittersweet in that.

He sighed, leaning back in the chair, trying to keep his legs from going numb.

It hurt to see Sam make connections with the outside world because they weren't relationships Sam could have. There was no room for that in their lives. The hunt simply didn't allow for it. It was a lesson they'd learned the hard way throughout their entire lives. Every time they tried to defy it, it came crashing down on them. And they had a list of names and broken dreams to prove it—both of them.

Dean always had a soft spot for kids, especially kids who suffered because of the supernatural, because he knew what that was like. Sam had always been good with kids, kind and gentle and protective, but he'd never realized just how good Sam could be with them because Sam had never had the chance.

Sam hadn't had the chance for a lot of things in his life, Dean thought ruefully.

His musings were interrupted by a familiar face, peering at him tentatively.

It took his brain a minute to process it, but soon he recognized the face. "Dean?"

"Grace," he said, clearing his throat. "What are you doing here?"

She smiled, taking his acknowledgement of her presence as an invitation to sit. "Just wanted to check on the kids."

Dean nodded distantly.

"Have you heard anything about Sam?" Grace asked, her eyes roaming the room.

"Nothing," Dean said, trying to swallow the tremor in his voice. He glanced around, realizing just how alone he and Grace seemed. "How are the kids?"

"I had to have a meeting with the parents," Grace said. "They needed to know about it before they heard about it all on the evening news."

"How'd they take it?"

Grace smiled a little. "Bad timing. So far no one's pointing fingers--at me, anyway. I talked to my principal and he's just relieved that no one was more seriously hurt."

"How's Ethan? And Liam?" In his worry about Sam, it was easy to forget that his brother wasn't the only victim.

Looking down, Grace shifted uncomfortably. "They've had some trouble keeping them stabilized," she said. "Something about an erratic heartbeat."

It took all of Dean's resolve not to let this news shatter his composure. If Ethan and Liam weren't cured by now, if they were still showing signs of having been attacked, that meant there was no miraculous cure when the spirit was gone. It meant that Sam would have one more obstacle to overcome.

"It wasn't a contagion, was it?" Grace asked, so suddenly that Dean jumped in surprise.

"What?"

"What happened in the museum," she said. "It wasn't some freak contamination."

"Why do you say that?"

"The kids," she said. "Jaclyn, Lara, and Jeremy. They're lying about what happened. I can tell. And the museum is asking about these weird lines of salt around the Jewels of the East exhibit."

Dean hesitated, contemplating what to say to her with dread. She was bright and more receptive than Dean felt like dealing with. Mostly, she knew her kids, just like Dean knew Sam, and she wasn't about to sit idly by while something went on under her nose. "Would you believe me if I told you the truth?" Dean asked finally, grinning weakly.

She didn't smile back. "Try me."

Dean looked down for a moment, collecting himself. When he looked up, he felt tired. "It was a spirit," Dean said. "Someone long ago had been cursed and forced to stay inside one of the jewels. She spent the next couple of centuries trying to find her way back out. When the jewel was finally excavated and put on display, she found her means. Children, all over the place. If she could suck their life force, she might gain enough to return to human form. Sam and I were here trying to figure that out and stop her from doing it again."

The story was long and Dean watched as the meaning settled over her features. "You're saying a ghost attacked Liam and Ethan?"

"And other kids before them," Dean said.

"And how do you know that? I mean, how would _anyone_ know that?"

He had told her this much. There was nothing left to hold back. "It happens more often than you think. Hauntings, paranormal activity." He shrugged, too weary to go into more detail. "It's real more often than not."

It was never easy news for someone to take, and Grace just stared at him, mouth slightly open like she couldn't decide whether to be insulted or shocked. "You're kidding me."

The shake of Dean's head was short and to the point. "Sam needed help finishing the ritual. He had to ask the kids to help consecrate the room so the spirit couldn't escape--that's why there was salt. Sam's injuries were because the spirit brought museum exhibits to life. The kids were holed up in a bathroom to try to hide from it all."

She sank back into her chair, her face pale. "I didn't want to believe them," she said.

"They told you?" Dean asked, suddenly alarmed. The last thing they needed was extra publicity.

"Lara did—sort of. She said she wasn't supposed to, that it was a secret, but that she didn't know what to do. She was terrified by it. She didn't want to go home. She kept wanting to see Sam because Sam could make it right just like he had in the museum. None of it made any sense though, unless...I mean...it's crazy."

"We kind of try to keep it discreet," Dean admitted. "It does sound pretty crazy."

At that, Grace laughed, short and a little hysterical. When she was done, she was slumped back in the chair, shaking her head. "Just a little," she said. "So when will you hear about Sam?"

Dean's face darkened. "They won't tell me anything."

"Do you want some company?"

Dean looked up, surprised. "You want to wait?"

"I want to stick around and see if Ethan and Liam are doing okay. Their parents are up in the PICU right now." She sighed a little. "And I owe it to Sam, I think."

Dean eased himself back in the chair, trying to find a comfortable position. "Me too," he said quietly, almost inaudibly. "Me too."


	10. Chapter 10

A/N: And this is it. I always hate posting the last chapter of a fic. I'm always afraid of not tying things up write, and of missing the fic when it's over. The entire process is oddly addictive and I truly appreciate everyone who read and reviewed this one. I hope it was an adequate b-day gift, Gem. You deserve the best :) Thanks again to Tyranusfan and to sendintheclowns who helped make this possible. Until next time!

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**Chapter Ten**

Dean knew he needed to stay awake because the doctor would be coming with news on Sam soon. But his eyes were tired, they were weary, and resting them couldn't hurt. The lights in the hospital were garish and the sting of antiseptic was so thick in the air that it burned.

Behind his eyes he could see the Impala parked in a deserted field, low and sleek under a star-filled sky.

He edged closer, hesitantly, knowing he didn't really have time for this. For some reason, but he couldn't quite remember what. Then he saw her--long legs, short shorts, perched on the edge of his baby. She was leaning forward in invitation, a smile playing on her lips.

He really didn't have time for this, but her hair was a perfect shade of blonde and the dip of her shirt wisped just low enough to make him want to see more.

"Hey there," she said in the best damn seductive voice he'd ever heard. "You thirsty?"

She nodded to her side where a twelve pack of beer sat in the dewy grass. He felt a sudden dryness in his throat. Maybe just one beer.

He moved closer, easing up next to her and her long fingers went to his body, running up the length of his torso before shaking him gently.

He pulled away, looking at her funny, but she just shook him again.

He opened his mouth to speak, to ask her what she was doing, to figure out what kind of messed up dream this was when he shook again.

That wasn't part of the dream. No, he was really shaking. Someone was shaking him.

"Dean? Dean, wake up."

The voice was vaguely familiar, but it certainly wasn't Sam or his father so he wasn't sure it was worth waking up for.

"Dean, the doctor is here to talk to you about Sam."

That was all the incentive he needed. Instantly, the dream world vanished, the Impala, beer, the beautiful woman, and he was back in the hospital waiting room, a gray haired doctor standing over him, looking skeptical.

Dean rushed to stand, wobbling a little as he did so, and he tried to erase the vestige of sleep from his mind. "How is he?"

"Well, we've got him through surgery, and he's stable for now," the man said, a bit gruffly.

"Is he going to be okay?" Dean knew enough about doctors to know that they liked to hear themselves talk, to cushion things, to say things in a roundabout way. Dean didn't have the time or patience for that--ever.

"There are multiple factors working against your brother right now," the doctor explained, peering critically at Dean from under bushy eyebrows. "While in the museum, he was exposed to the same contagion that the other victims were. We haven't been able to identify it yet, but it messes with the nervous system. Makes the body nearly incapable of maintaining normal functions. Essentially, the body has to shut down, conserve energy to regulate itself."

That explained the comas all the victims entered into before they died. "What about his other injuries?"

"Well, we did a CAT scan and the concussion is minor. It shouldn't be causing any real complications except giving him a headache. However, the blood loss was significant--the actual damage to tissue and muscle is limited, but losing that much blood only exacerbates his exposure to the contagion. We probed the wound and tied off the bleeders. He had to be transfused, but his blood pressure is still all over the place. He's gone into cardiac arrest once and come close a few other times. We've got him on some drugs to try to regulate it a bit since his body can't handle that job right now, but at this point it's just a matter of waiting."

The medical monologue left him feeling numb inside, and Dean searched for something to say, for something to do. All he had done today was wait, and he was more than a little tired of being idle. "When can I see him?"

"He's still in recovery. We'll be transferring him to ICU within the hour, I suspect."

Dean didn't watch him go. Dean didn't do anything. Dean didn't know if he could even move.

Sam was supposed to be okay. Sam was supposed to be fine. And all the doctor could tell him was to wait and see.

"Dean?" Grace asked, her voice soft, tentative. "Dean, are you okay?"

Without warning, Dean felt his knees give, and he sank hard to the chair below him. Grace's hand went out to catch him, and she followed him down.

"Dean?" she tried again. "Say something, Dean."

He swallowed, and felt himself trembling. "Sam has to be okay," he murmured. "Sam has to be."

Grace's fingers brushed his hair now. "I know," she said. "They're doing everything they can."

There was no response he could make, nothing else he could say, and all of his efforts were focused on trying to remember how to breathe.

"Hey, Dean," she called to him softly. "Look at me."

Though words still wouldn't come, Dean managed to raise his eyes to meet her. She was looking intently at him, compassion in her eyes--compassion and confidence.

She smiled at him now. "Let's head upstairs and see what we can find out, okay?"

He just stared at her, a little confused, a little reassured.

"Come on," she said, jerking her head toward the stairs. "We'll have more luck if we take a proactive approach."

Dean couldn't have agreed more. Standing, he followed Grace toward the stairs to find his brother.

-o-

Sam didn't look as bad as Dean had feared. After all, the last time he had seen Sam, the kid had been covered with blood and still as death. Sam was still far too still, but there were monitors now that heralded his life. And the blood had been washed away, making Sam appear less morbidly hurt.

The doctors had no answers for him. Sam's condition did not improve.

So he waited.

Grace stayed with him for a bit, then wandered off to check on the kids. When she came back, she reported that they were maybe improving a little, but that they were much the same.

Whatever had attacked all of them in the museum eluded the medical staff and Dean avoided people at all costs. He had no answers to give and he certainly did not feel like expending energy on lies right now.

-o-

It was about noon the next day when Sam's vitals took a nosedive and monitors were beeping all over the place. He was shoved unceremoniously from the room and the curtains were drawn, blocking his view from Sam.

The feeling of helplessness was all too familiar. When Grace found him there a minute later, he must have been crying because she was all over him, asking, "What's wrong? What happened?"

Dean would have told her if he'd known.

She stayed with him when the doctor came out looking grim.

"Sam's heart stopped," he announced. "We got him back, but it was touch and go for awhile there. We've upped his meds, changed a few, but if something doesn't change soon..." The doctor's voice trailed off and he looked apologetic.

Dean might have hit him if he'd had the energy. Instead he licked his lips and tried to bring himself to his full height. "Can I sit with him?"

The doctor's nod was reluctant and full of pity.

Dean would take what he could.

-o-

Grace stayed with him for awhile, and at this point, Dean didn't think to question it much. They didn't talk, not really, and all his dreams of conquest when it came to her were so long gone that he didn't even give her low cut tank top a second glance (the first, he admitted, was inevitable).

Dean did all he could. He talked to Sam a little, but there weren't even words to say. He thought about apologizing, but Sam would never stand for it, and an apology was too much like a goodbye.

The staff shooed them out around dinnertime, and Grace took him to the cafeteria. She ordered for both of them, and she guided him to a spare table near the windows.

"I have to go back to work tomorrow," she said, taking a bite of her sandwich. "Are you going to be okay by yourself?"

Dean looked at her, surprised. "Yeah," he said.

She nodded like she didn't believe him. "You love your brother a lot, don't you?"

The question shook Dean. "What?"

"Sam," she replied. "You care so much about him. I thought no one could feel worse about this entire mess than I do, but I can see that's not true."

"I told you, he's my responsibility," he replied absently.

"But it's more than that," she countered, pulling an onion from the sandwich and depositing it on her plate. "Ethan and Liam--they're my responsibility too. What happened to them, happened on my watch. That's not easy to deal with. And don't get me wrong, I love those kids, but it's not the same. I see that now."

Dean's face screwed up. "Why are you saying this?"

She flicked her eyes at him. "I was just thinking about what you told me, about you and Sam do and what was really in that museum. The police had to take my statement about it all."

Dean's breathing quickened. The police were an element he did not want to deal with, that he wasn't ready to deal with. Sam wasn't well enough to leave town.

"I lied to them," she said. "The curator too. I told them I had no idea what happened and that you two were just passing by and tried to help. I told them that Sam had gone back right away, that he never broke in at all. The kids all lied too. They told everyone that there was some kind of freak explosion--they didn't see what happened, of course, and they're kids, so no one would expect them to really know. And it accounts for the amount of debris strewn throughout the place.

Her words dumbfounded him, and he stared at her, blankly. "Why would you do that for us?"

She studied her tray thoughtfully. "I owe you," she said with a sigh. "And I owe Sam. I can see what he did for those kids. You have no idea. Those kids--they'd walk through hell and back for Sam. Kids don't give their trust away without it being earned. If Sam can earn theirs, then you two can surely earn mine."

Dean's eyes dropped back down to his own unfinished meal and he suppressed a laugh. Just another thing he'd need to thank Sam for _when_ Sam woke up.

-o-

When Grace came back, Dean had already been camped out in Sam's room for two days. The nurses humored him, mostly because he was pretty sure he looked too pathetic to argue with.

Besides, even the strictest nurses and doctors had to admit that Dean's presence seemed good for Sam. Sam remained comatose and his vitals still fluctuated, but they hadn't crashed or spiked in about 24 hours and things were looking good. They'd transferred him from the ICU about 10 hours ago and all indications were that he would continue to get stronger.

Grace showed up with an entourage, and Dean recognized the three kids from the museum. They all looked better than before, less pale and blank, though standing in the entrance of Sam's room, they certainly did look scared.

"They wanted to see him for themselves," Grace explained. "I kind of had to sneak them in, so I hope you don't mind."

The kids lingered behind Grace, peeking around her tentatively. "Can we come in?" Jaclyn asked.

"Yeah," Dean said, remembering himself. "He's still unconscious but they say he's doing better."

Grace stepped inside and the kids spread out around her, keeping close to Grace nonetheless.

"Dean, you remember Lara, Jaclyn, and Jeremy, right?"

Dean nodded vaguely at them. He did remember them, though it was a distant memory. His attention had been on other things at the time.

Jeremy inched closer, studying the machines that still surrounded Sam. "He's going to be okay, right?" the boy asked.

"They think so," Dean replied.

"But he hasn't woken up yet?" Jaclyn asked, still too afraid to edge closer.

Dean shook his head.

"Ethan woke up," she told him. "Daniel says Liam should soon too."

Lara had moved closer. "We should talk to him," she said. "People always talk to people in comas and they can hear them. And then they make their way back from the other side to see their loved ones again."

To that, Dean didn't have much to say. His jaw worked, trying to come up with something to say. It wasn't the most ridiculous thing he'd ever heard, and he couldn't deny that he'd thought that a little too which was the only reason he'd managed to say anything at all to his kid brother while he was waiting.

But Lara looked almost dreamy eyed about it, and she was approaching Sam with purpose.

Grace saved him. "Lara, things are not quite like they are on TV," she lectured gently.

Lara seemed to be a little disappointed and kept her distance from Sam.

"It's okay," Dean said. "Sam has a thing for blondes. He'd probably like it if you talked to him."

Lara brightened, smiling shyly and snaked forward again, her little hand going to Sam's.

"He told me everything would be okay," Jaclyn informed Dean.

"Well, then," Dean said. "Then I guess it'll have to be. Sam doesn't lie about things like that."

Jaclyn smiled and straightened a little.

"Okay, kids, say goodbye to Sam," she said. "I think I've got to smuggle you back out to your parents."

Jeremy stuck at Sam's side for a minute before shyly drifting to the door. Lara leaned over and placed a peck on Sam's cheek. Jaclyn gave Sam's limp hand a tentative squeeze before following her classmates to the door.

"Go out to the hallway down by the nurse's station. I'll be there in a minute," Grace instructed.

The kids filed out, each casting longing glances over their shoulders as they went.

Grace followed their gazes, letting hers rest on Sam for a long moment. "So he's really going to be okay?"

"That's what they tell me," Dean said. "I'll feel better when he wakes up."

"Ethan and Liam really are on the mend," she told him. "It's only a matter of time for Sam."

A silence lapsed, and Dean found himself wondering why she was still here.

She laughed, tucking her hair behind her ear. "You know, now that Sam is feeling better, I was hoping that when he woke up, I could...," her voice trailed off and she blushed, looking down. "You don't think he'd be interested in going out sometime, would you?"

Dean just stared, trying hard not to let his mouth fall open.

All of her words, all of her encouragement--it had all been a way to get at _Sam_. Dean had stayed out to make her fall for him and somehow Sam, by going in to save the kids, with all of his injured heroics, had earned her adoration without even trying.

He grinned, feeling utterly ridiculous. "I'll put in a good word for you."

The smile she gave him was all girlish and giddy. Bright eyes, red cheeks, she nodded enthusiastically. "Thank you," she said. "I'll be back."

Dean didn't doubt that in the least as she scurried out to find her students.

Tired, Dean sunk into the chair, giving his brother a once over. "Man, Sammy," he said, shaking his head. "You have her ready to eat out of your hand and you didn't have to do anything."

He took in Sam's closed eyes, his long body prone on the bed.

"Okay, okay," Dean relented. "So you only had to get yourself speared in the side and attacked by some freaky-ass spirit. It's not like you did anything that took any talent."

Though Sam was unconscious, Dean was pretty sure some part of Sam was probably flipping him off.

"Don't worry," Dean assured him, leaning forward and patting Sam on the arm. "I think you've earned this one."

-o-

Sam knew that sometimes it didn't pay to wake up.

Waking up meant stuffing himself into the Impala, it meant hunting down things that wanted to kill him, it meant dealing with Dean's obnoxious eating habits.

Sleep wasn't always a refuge, that much was true, but sometimes...Sam had to admit, sometimes the nothingness was welcome. Especially since he hardly ever got it.

Hunts usually happened at odd hours. Sleep was often relegated to unusual times in unusual locations, of course assuming he got it at all and it wasn't marred by nightmares.

But this time--this time he was in a bed. Someplace warm and soft and it felt good.

He didn't want to wake up.

But there were these voices...more than one. Talking all around him.

Talking so much, so excitedly, he couldn't sleep.

He grimaced.

That's when he noticed the pain. It lingered over his body, settling heavily in his head and in his side.

Nope. He definitely wasn't getting anymore sleep right now.

"I think he's waking up!"

The voice was exuberant and trying too hard to be quiet. It was young and inexperienced.

Most of all, it definitely wasn't Dean.

Sam was used to waking up to a lot of strange things, but he was always used to Dean being there.

"Look! I saw his eyes flutter!"

It wasn't Dean, but he knew that voice. He knew all those voices.

He made himself blink, and the light made him wince. He blinked again, prepared this time, and slowly the haze focused into some semblance of reality.

At first he thought he might be hallucinating. He was probably in a hospital, after all.

Four kids, four pairs of eyes, all staring directly at him.

"Are you awake?" one of them asked, and the sheer ridiculousness of the question made him remember her. Lara.

Sam tried to speak but found his voice scratchy and rough. "I think so," he managed to get out, but it sounded garbled and wrong.

"You almost died," Lara said with a familiar wide-eyed expression. This time, however, he could see there was awe, not fear behind it.

"Yeah," Daniel agreed. "There was a lot of blood."

"That spear you pulled out of your side was pretty sweet, though," Jeremy added, hero worship coloring his voice. Sam remembered hearing it in his own once upon a time.

"You scared us," Jaclyn said, a little shyer than the others.

Sam tried not to flinch at their words. Everything was too loud. The recollection of his injuries was not a pleasant reminder of how he'd ended up here, and gauging from the fuzziness in his mouth and head, he doubted he'd be feeling up to par any time soon.

But there were other things to worry about. Like where Dean was. How he had ended up here. What had happened in the museum. The last thing he remembered was starting the exorcism. He just couldn't remember finishing it.

He had too many questions, and none of them were things he wanted to ask the kids.

"Sam? Are you okay?" Daniel was asking.

Sam blinked, his focus coming back to the situation at hand. The kids were watching him. "Sorry," he said, forcing a smile. "What happened?"

"I finished the spell," Jaclyn said, leaning forward and whispering. "I had to pull the paper out of your hand but I did and I read it and there was this bright light and this noise and it went away."

Sam stared for a second. Jaclyn had finished the exorcism. That certainly hadn't been part of the plan.

Before he could completely process that though, Lara was standing and bouncing in a way that only young girls seemed to be able to. "Ms. Young! Ms. Young!" Lara cried. "Sam's awake!"

Sam recognized the face of the young teacher, but hardly recognized the relaxed expression on her face. Her smile was wide and bright and suddenly Sam realized why Dean had wanted to hit on her in the first place. She strode into the room with confident and grace, Dean lurking at her heels.

"I see that," she said, putting a hand on Lara's shoulder. "You guys aren't being too loud now, are you? Sam still needs lots of rest." She said it in a teacher's voice, but there was bemusement and humor laden in it.

The kids nodded seriously. "We're not being loud," Jeremy said. "We were just telling him that we were glad he was okay."

At this, Grace nodded in approval. "And we are quite glad," she said, smiling at Sam. "It's not everyday we get saved by heroes."

Dean seemed to stiffen behind her, as if begging to be noticed, but no one caught it but Sam.

"I didn't do anything," Sam said sheepishly. "It was Dean who figured it all out."

Grace didn't even look back at Dean and the kids were still crowded around the bed. "To risk your life for people you hardly know--that's heroic," she explained, leaning forward to pat Sam's wrist. "Thank you."

Sam blushed.

Grace pulled something out of her bag, holding it out to Sam. "The kids wanted to make you something. It's not much, but..."

Sam opened his mouth, dumbfounded. "Well, I mean--"

"I wrote the 'Thank You'," Jaclyn piped up, leaning over to take the card from Grace and handing it to Sam, her fingers pointing at the purple scrawl. "And I drew the stars."

"I drew the hearts," Lara said. "I was going to draw a bunny, but it took too long. And some of the other kids were impatient." She huffed a little.

"Check out the inside," Jeremy broke in, opening the card for Sam. "I totally drew the Eskimos. I was going to draw them fighting with the Indians but Ms. Young said that wouldn't be very encouraging or something." He cast an annoyed glance at his teacher.

Sure enough, there were stick figures wearing floppy parkas, carrying fishing poles and sleds.

"And I drew the mummies," Daniel said. "I drew the dinosaurs too, because Liam's not well enough yet. He loves the dinosaurs, remember?"

Sam's mind clicked. "How is Liam?" he asked with a sudden rush of urgency. "And Ethan? Are they okay?"

"They're fine," Dean said, speaking for the first time. "Ethan's going to be released tomorrow and Liam should be out by the end of the week. Weirdest thing. Docs can't figure out what it is."

Grace turned around at this, offering Dean a knowing smile before turning back shyly to Sam. "We're just glad everyone is okay. And we really do have you to thank for that."

"Really, it was nothing," Sam said.

"Well, just the same," Grace said. "I do believe it's time for us to go." She looked pointedly at the children. "We need to let Sam recover."

There was a chorus of whines.

"We'll come back and visit him again later, okay?" Grace conceded.

The whines become sounds of approval and Sam barely had time to think before he was inundated with hugs. They all hugged him, climbed on the bed and wrapped their arms around him. Even Jeremy.

When they left, waving and in a flurry of chatter, Sam resisted the pull of tears behind his eyes. Grace lingered in the doorway a minute longer, eyeing him, a mixture of gratitude and something else, before she followed the kids into the hall.

The room was strangely silent without them. Sam took a shuddering breath. Quiet and empty and guilty. The kids were thanking him and he'd nearly gotten them killed. They were thanking him and all he'd done was steal a part of their innocence that they could never get back.

He looked at his brother. Dean was still lurking in the corner, leaned silently up against the wall. Sam attempted to smile, wiping his eyes a little to try to play down the swell of emotions the children had left him with.

"Hey," Dean said finally. "You feeling okay?"

Sam grimaced, remembering with sudden clarity the spear in his side. His hand went to the location, feeling the padding of gauze underneath. "It hurts."

Dean snorted at this, winding his way to a chair and sinking into it. "You took a spear to the side, dude," he said. "I think it's going to hurt."

"I should have ducked faster," Sam griped, trying to breathe evenly.

"If you'd have ducked, you'd have just taken it higher," Dean said. "Do you need something for the pain? They've had you sedated, but now that you're awake, they may let you have the good stuff."

Sam shook his head. The last thing he wanted to do right now was sleep. Funny, a few moments earlier that was _all_ he wanted to do. "I'm okay," he said, and it was almost the truth. The pain was manageable, at least. He looked around, taking in the room. The monitors were on silent and he was hooked up to a pair of IVs. "How bad am I?"

The look on Dean's face was a little amused, a little controlled, but mostly weary. Sam braced himself for the answer. "You're going to be fine," Dean said. "But you had me worried there for awhile."

Dean's voice was unusually quiet, unusually withdrawn, and Sam's worry flared. As hard as it was for him to wind in the hospital, he knew it was exponentially worse for Dean to sit there and worry over him. He knew, all too well. He'd been in that position more than he wanted to remember. "How long have I been out?"

Dean looked down, playing with his nails. "Five days."

Sam blanched. It was worse than he had expected. He had known the wound was bloody, but five days? "Why?"

"The concussion wasn't anything serious. They had to transfuse you, though. You lost way too much blood back there."

There was an air of a reprimand in Dean's voice, but it was as if he couldn't carry through with sincere anger.

"But it was the arrhythmia that really...Your heart—it just wasn't beating right, just like the kids. They think you got bowled over by whatever 'contagion' was in the museum. The blood loss just made yours harder to recover from. They weren't sure for awhile..."

Dean's voice trailed off and he looked away, and Sam struggled to find the right thing to say.

Sam shifted uncomfortably, not just from the pain in his side and head. He hated this--hated seeing his brother like that, hated it when his brother gave him that look. He knew Dean wanted to protect him, he even understood it--it was the same way Sam felt about Dean. But Sam didn't want to be a burden, not anymore, and whenever Sam got himself hurt, it was like fighting the battle all over again.

Dean didn't know how not to take care of him. He didn't know how to keep his sense of protection in check. His brother was blaming himself and this wasn't Dean's fault.

Sam didn't know what to say. He never did. Not that he could say anything Dean would listen to anyway. He sighed, letting his head roll to look at the window. "Thanks," he said finally, his voice quiet, soft. He may have gotten out alive, but it wasn't because of anything he'd done. It was because of Dean. It was because of the kids.

If Dean heard him, he didn't acknowledge him, and Sam knew it probably wasn't something his brother even wanted to talk about. "I'm going to get the doctor," Dean said instead, to divert the conversation.

Sam didn't look back as he heard his brother stand and leave the room. He just lay there, wishing for a way to make this better. A way to show Dean this wasn't his fault. A way to help those kids unlearn what they'd learned.

-o-

Now that Sam was okay, Dean was beginning to realize how _not _okay he really was. The physical wounds would heal—they always seemed to—but there were lingering doubts, lingering questions, and Dean didn't know quite what to do with them.

He just wished he could forget this hunt ever happened. If he could go back and avoid it altogether, he probably would.

The entire thing had mostly been a bust. Sure, in the end, they had gotten rid of the spirit, purged the exhibit of evil and generally saved the day, but it had been a sloppy hunt. A sloppy and costly hunt—it had nearly killed two innocent kids. It had nearly killed Sam.

And that wasn't something Dean could ever take lightly.

It was true Sam was on the mend, and Dean was sure the kid would be driving him crazy in no time. But he couldn't forget how pale Sam had looked, how limp he'd been when he'd found the kids trying to drag him out. And he certainly couldn't forget the doctor's litany of medical jargon, talking about severe blood loss, concussions, and muscle damage.

Sam was a few pints lighter, a few stitches heavier, and Dean hadn't even gotten the girl in all of this. She only had eyes for Sam, and his prudish kid brother was too busy being embarrassed to even reciprocate.

He sighed. All in all, he supposed, that meant things were getting back to normal. A few days after waking up, and the doctor was talking about releasing Sam. Dean wanted to blow town before someone recognized who they really were.

Trudging back through the hospital corridors, coffee in hand, Dean couldn't help but think. Some hunts were harder to let go of than others. Some just lingered with him, stuck in his mind. Sometimes they haunted him with failures, with what could have gone wrong, with people they'd met and already left behind.

It was never certain what got to him and what didn't, and Sam was even harder to figure out when it came to that stuff. The truth was, Dean hardly ever missed the women he met, especially the ones he ended up sleeping with. It was the families that were difficult, the people who had shared grief with him, the people who had bonded with Sam.

Watching Sam meet people, connect with people, and then get torn away hurt Dean more than he liked to let on. The days after Jessica had been more painful for him than the days after Sam had first left for Stanford. He loved his brother and he was beginning to realize that seeing Sam hurt, physically or emotionally, was far harder than being without Sam.

This hunt wouldn't leave either of them soon. Almost losing Sam unnerved him, reminded him of his own vulnerability, and he knew he wouldn't be taking any backseats any time soon. He also knew they'd be doing their legwork much better upfront, and Dean wouldn't belittle the value of research for at least a month or two.

For Sam, though, he knew it would be the kids that would stay with him, in his mind. Something had happened between Sam and those kids, something Dean would never understand. There was a bond, a trust, that had been forged of life and death. Sam had saved them, and they had saved Sam. They had needed each other, and Dean knew that wasn't something that would ever be forgotten.

Especially not with kids.

Dean paused outside of Sam's room, peeking in. Sam was asleep on the bed, head turned away in rest to the window. They'd be leaving soon, on to the next hunt, and Dean knew they'd probably never be back again. It wouldn't be long until someone figured out who they were, and Dean wondered how the kids would take to knowing that their savior was a wanted felon.

That hurt more than just about everything else. To know that those kids idolized Sam, loved him, and that it could all be taken away by Dean's run-ins with the law.

It wouldn't be the first thing this job had cost them, and it certainly wouldn't be the last. In the grander scheme of things, the respect of five children didn't mean much, but Dean hated to think of it anyway. Because Sam deserved better than that.

Sam deserved better than all of this. Sam deserved kids of his own, a family, a life, a future. He knew Sam wanted it, knew Sam had almost had it with Jessica. It was why he wanted Sam to hook up again, why he'd encouraged Sam to be with Sarah. Because someday he wanted to give that chance to his brother.

Sam would be so good at it. As a father, Sam would be gentle and steady, solid and supportive. He would get his children to listen to him by the very nature of his voice.

Quietly, Dean entered, moving to Sam's side, watching him sleep.

He had always thought that he and his brother would hunt together forever. That the hunt would be what bound them, would be what kept them together.

The past two years had made Dean realize that the hunt would do nothing but kill them. They hunted to survive now, hunted because they had no choice. But the cost of that...

The cost wasn't worth it. Not anymore. Not with losing their dad, not with almost dying. Nothing was worth that. Nothing was worth Sam's future.

It did scare Dean, though, the thought of Sam going away again. But he knew his brother, and he knew his brother would never leave him.

And in the end, he'd rather have Sam living his own life apart from Dean than be dead with him.

Wearily, he sank to the chair.

He had always thought Sam was selfish for leaving, for wanting more than the hunt, more than _him_. But now he was beginning to see that Sam was just trying to survive all along, that Sam needed the outside contact. Sam needed his dreams.

Sinking back into the chair, Dean wondered if maybe he did too.

-o-

Sam was no stranger to hospitals, though he was used to being _a stranger_ in hospitals. He was used to being alone a lot, or just being with Dean, passing long days with nothing to do but watch TV, read books he managed to borrow from helpful nurses, and bicker with his brother.

So the visits from his seemingly adoring fan club were definitely not something he was used to, and he was almost afraid to admit how much he liked it.

Yes, it did make him feel guilty to see how much the kids idolized him. But seeing them safe, seeing them smiling—it gave him hope like he'd never known before. Hope that maybe they'd be okay. That maybe he'd saved them in more ways than one.

That was the real draw to hunting--the only draw, really. Usually he hunted out of desperation. He hunted to find the demon that started this and end it before it was too late. Hunting wasn't so much a choice as a necessity. He'd never understood why Dean had ever tried to convince him otherwise. The whole saving lives mantra seemed to pale in comparison to the fact that the Demon was still out there and still coming for him.

Because he never saw the results. They so rarely had time to stick around and see what good they had done. Sure, he knew it logically, but experiencing it--that was something else entirely.

He was lost in this train of thought when a knock came at the door.

Grace was peeking her head in shyly. "You mind if I come in?" she asked. "I was just over seeing Liam get checked out and thought I'd see how you were doing."

Sam smiled warmly at her. "How are you?"

She blushed a little as she sat down. "I should be asking you that."

Sam shrugged. "I feel fine," he said, which was mostly true. The drugs they were giving him were very good. He did feel tired most of the time, but in comparison to before, he really was feeling fine. "The doctors think I'll be good to go in a few days."

"Where will you be going? You're not from here, I take it."

Sam kept his response easy. "Hard to say," he said. "Dean and I will just see where things take us."

"But you will be leaving town?" It didn't escape Sam that she seemed disappointed.

"Not much reason for us to stay." Sam didn't want to be cruel, and honesty seemed like the best route in the long run. He knew what Dean had told Grace, and he could only hope that she understood what that meant for him.

"The kids will miss you," she said, playing with her fingernail. "They want you to come visit the classroom."

Sam couldn't help but grin at that. It would make one hell of a Career Day presentation. "I'll miss them too."

"You could stay for awhile...for them, I mean."

But Sam knew he couldn't. "Well, we'll have to see--"

"And as thanks, I could take you out for dinner," Grace offered, looking up at him with hopeful eyes.

Too hopeful. Sam felt his resolve crumbling. "That's really not necessary--"

"I think it may be," she said quickly. "Sam, what you did for those kids--what you did for me--I just have no other way of thanking you. You gave yourself over completely for those kids. You nearly died for them. It's not every day a girl gets to meet a bonafide hero."

Sam looked at her sympathetically. She didn't have any idea. "I'm not a hero, Grace."

He was a liar, a cheat, and a thief. He was wanted by the FBI, a college dropout, and tied to something evil. His father thought he would need to be killed and his brother didn't trust him to save himself. Every relationship he'd attempted with a woman had ended up poorly. And that was an understatement.

Sam was many things, but heroic was not among them.

"My offer still stands," Grace said, rising. "I need to head home now, but when you get out of here, I'm taking you out."

Sam didn't have the heart to say no.

She leaned over, kissing him lightly on the cheek. "Stay safe, Sam," she said.

"You, too," he replied.

She hesitated, meeting his eyes one last time, before she turned and left.

As she left, Sam couldn't help but wish she wouldn't come back again. Because each time he saw her, each time he talked to her, it made him want to stay a little more. Not because he was particularly attracted to her, not because he even wanted to know her better, but because she was offering him normal. No matter how hard he tried not to want it, no matter how much he knew he couldn't have it, no matter how dedicated he was to Dean, nothing made that easier to reject.

-o-

Sam got his wish. It wasn't even daybreak when Dean broke him out of the hospital, by stealth of course, and by noon the next day, they were already out of Illinois and driving west as fast as the back roads of America would take them.

He felt a little woozy, admittedly, but Dean had swiped some of the good meds, the ones that kept his side from becoming too prominent of a problem, and was sure to feed Sam his antibiotics to keep him on the mend.

Dean had made him eat lunch, which Sam had reluctantly agreed to. If nothing else, at least it wasn't hospital food, and Sam was ready to get back to normal--for what that was worth.

The afternoon had them back on the road, driving just like always, as though nothing were any different.

And nothing was any different, Sam reminded himself. The hunt had been a little sloppy, maybe, a little more dicey than usual, but that just came with the territory.

But that didn't explain why Sam felt different about this one--why this one was just harder to leave behind.

He sighed, feeling his side tentatively. It had been a few hours since his last set of pills and it was beginning to ache a little.

"You okay?" Dean asked, glancing over from the driver's seat.

Sam jumped slightly, wondering how Dean had even noticed. The man had eyes in the back of his head--or the side, as it were. "I'm fine," he said. "A little sore."

Dean scoffed. "You took a spear in the side," he retorted. "I think sore is an understatement."

Sam looked at him, perturbed.

Dean just grinned. "You want some more painkillers?"

"I'm fine, thanks," Sam said shortly, crossing his arms and sinking sulkily into his seat.

The countryside was long and flat and the sun was hot through the windows. The steady thrum of the road eased into Sam's body and he almost shut his eyes to it when his brother shifted next to him.

Sam cast a look his way and noticed Dean rubbing at his nose absently. Sam recognized that look--Dean's look of random conversation starters. Only this one wasn't goofy--wasn't one of those would-you-rather kind of things. No, Dean had something else, something more serious on his mind, from the look of it.

"Do you ever think about it? Having kids?" Dean asked.

Of all the things Sam had considered, that hadn't even been close.

Sam looked at his brother and weighed his words. Something inside of him screamed _yes_, yearned for it, wanted it. He smiled, slightly. But he remembered his own childhood, losing Jessica, killing Madison.

"There's not room for it in this life," Sam admitted finally, knowing it was true, even if it did avoid the question.

"I mean, someday," Dean amended. "Maybe."

Sam shrugged at this. "Do you?"

At this, Dean actually laughed. "Dude, I already have one."

Sam raised his eyebrows, shocked. What exactly had Dean been doing those years he was at college?

Dean looked at him, a sly grin forming. "I practically raised you, Sammy. There's nothing about you that I don't know. I changed your diapers, gave you baths. I know about that birthmark on your--"

Sam flushed, his mouth gaping a few times before he spluttered, "Dude!"

Dean grinned wickedly. "I definitely don't think I could handle more than one."

This left Sam sulking, sinking deeper into the passenger's seat of the Impala. "No wonder I'm so screwed up," he muttered.

"Aw, Sammy," Dean said with mock sympathy. "I was good for you. Can you imagine Dad trying to tell you about the birds and the bees?"

Sam considered the image and had to admit, it was pretty terrifying no matter how he looked at it. He shook his head. "Maybe it's best if neither of us reproduces," he said finally. "I'd hate to think of the ways we could contaminate children if we were actually responsible for them for more than two days."

Sam was joking, sort of, but Dean seemed to sense the heaviness in his voice. "You'd be good at it, you know," he said, surprisingly serious.

"What?"

Dean shrugged, trying to downplay it. "You'd be a natural. That's why the kids trusted you like they did. I mean, they adored you, Sammy."

"It was a tense situation," Sam reasoned clinically. "Trauma binds people together. You know that."

"Not like that." Dean shook his head. "I'm just saying."

Dean's sincerity made Sam's heart rise into his throat. He clenched his teeth and tried to smile through it. "So would you."

"Maybe someday," Dean said, his voice quiet in the rhythm of the wheels on the road.

A silence followed, and Sam felt suddenly awkward. He kept his gaze steady on the landscape slipping by his window.

Dean sniffled loudly, and Sam considered reaching for the stereo.

"Maybe you just need the right girl," Dean said with a sudden airiness. He glanced suggestively at Sam. "You know, if we stayed, you could hook up with Grace," Dean said, waggling his eyebrows at him.

"Grace? I thought _you _liked her," Sam said, genuinely surprised.

Dean shrugged, feigning indifference. "Turns out she has a thing for geeks," Dean said.

Sam glared. "You were the one doing the research on this one, man. The geekboy title is yours."

Dean just shook his head. "You can take the geek away from the computer--"

"Ha ha," Sam interrupted. "Just keep driving."

"Although," Dean said. "Maybe I should try the fatherhood thing."

Sam waited for Dean to continue, and finally took the bait. "Why's that?"

"Seems like a shame to let these good genes go to waste, you know? A crime against society," Dean said with an emphatic nod before turning and flashing a winning smile to Sam.

Sam couldn't even manage an eye roll. His face split into a smile. "Yeah," he said. "A real crime."

"You know it, little brother."

There was no promise in that, no guarantee, and Sam couldn't deny that there was an ache someplace deep inside of him that no painkiller could ever touch.

They couldn't stay in Springfield. Sam didn't want to stay in Springfield, no matter what Dean thought. He wasn't even sure he'd ever be ready for a family--not with all he'd lost.

But Sam knew he'd miss it--he'd miss the kids, the idea of being stationary, the idea of home. He had given it up when their dad had died, given it up to stay here with Dean, to figure things out with his destiny, with his brother. He had to come to terms with the family he had now before he could ever dream for more.

But looking again at his brother, smiling and smooth, Sam wondered if he could learn to hope again for dreams that he thought had died.

He shook his head a little, letting it fall back against the seat.

Who knew--with Dean, almost anything was possible.

He heard the music switch on, and he smiled as his mind drifted away to sleep.

_end_


End file.
